When the Children Become the Parents: After You…

Two new grandsons have joined our first (born almost three years ago); one is 6 days old, the other just over two weeks. They are beautiful and delicious; watching our sons with them is breathtaking.

With the birth of that first little boy, we became grandparents; he brought us a new identity. Just after the birth of the second of the three, though, the rabbi took us beyond that. With the birth of their children, our children have become ancestors, taking their places, as we had done, in the thousands of years of Jewish history.

I’ve written before about the special meaning of our “Biblical” lineage , especially since we can’t trace our personal ones very far back, but I’m saying something else here: look forward as well as back. There’s something compelling about the concept of one’s children becoming ancestors – something wonderful and profound.

YOU ASKED FOR IT: Advice for New Moms

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NOTE: In the early years of BlogHer “virtual baby showers” – posts on a topic new moms might like – were frequent. This, one of the first, sought advice for new moms. In honor of two new grandchildren, here’s what I wrote then, in April of 2007.

That’s me with my older son, Josh, in Muir Woods outside San Francisco — pretty many years ago. I don’t know if you can tell but I’m pregnant with his brother. Happy to join the virtual shower although despite my adoration of and respect for both Liz and Catherine, I’m from the generation that put their babies to sleep on their stomachs and so may sound a little old-fashioned.

1. Don’t do anything that doesn’t feel right no matter whose advice it is.

2. Trust yourself.

3. Remember that everybody makes mistakes and anyway a child is not a product, she is a person. You’ve heard that kids are resilient. They are. Do your best with love and if you don’t dwell on your mistakes neither will they.

4. You can’t turn a child into someone. You can only help them become the best somebody they already are.

5. Don’t be afraid to say no. Parents who don’t set limits and help their kids learn self-discipline are selfish. It’s easier but it’s not right.

6. No experience is wasted on a child. Maybe they’re too young to remember, but if it happened, it had an impact. So share as much of what you love as you can – music, museums, trips to Timbuktu or Target — poetry, cooking, washing the car.

7. No child ever went to college in diapers.

8. Listen to experienced people you respect, preschool teachers, friends, even, God forbid, your mother. Experience really is a great teacher. Then, though, think it through and then do what you think is right.

9. Everything is not equally important. Pick your fights and win them.

10. Leave time to just be. Lessons are great but quiet time is where imagination and a sense of self emerges.

11. LISTEN to your kids. They are smart and interesting and wise and if you respect them you have a far better chance of having them respect you.

12. Did I say trust yourself?

With love, admiration and the joy that comes from knowing all you wonderful, poetic and caring, committed and in one case, very new mothers on the occasion of this lovely virtual baby shower.

Our Gigantic Family #MicroblogMondays

Two new little boys will enter our family before the end of September. We’re excited, happy for our lovely sons and their wives and very happy too that our grandchildren have such wonderful people as parents.

There’s another thing, that (even though it is, of course, obvious) I hadn’t thought about in a long time: these children, while we can’t trace personal generations very far back because so many records and stories were lost in the Holocaust, have a family that goes back to Abraham and to Moses and Mt. Sinai and to Sarah and Rachel and Rebecca. Of course, we all, biblically, begin with Adam and Eve but because I’ve always known I couldn’t trace our family, I didn’t let myself consider what we might never know – it was too painful.

I think that’s why the sudden recollection of this spectacular Jewish lineage became an almost new discovery even though the reality has always been part of our lives. We, and our children, and theirs, are part of something well beyond ourselves. I am grateful to be part of the tribe – and pray that our boys, and theirs – and their moms – travel safely as the world continues on its magnificent, scary and complicated trips around the sun.

Love IS Strange and the Film is Beautiful

Today’s lesson: When Rick Atkins picks a movie that ISN’T American Pie, go. Tonight we saw Love Is Strange – a warm, loving, measured story beautifully built and executed. I am still reeling from The Normal Heart, as I wrote here and I hadn’t wanted another sad tale in the same week.

SO when I heard what this film was about, I balked. No More Sad. I ended up agreeing to go though, and am so very glad I did.

In most cases with “small” films like this people say they’ll wait for Netflix; there are no special effects or broad vistas that require the big screen. In this case though, Manhattan was such a part of the story that it was worth seeing it in all its glory.

It wasn’t even sad. Sad things happened but there was so much love and humor, Charlie Tahan, the young man in this photo, was so wonderful and Lithgow and Molina‘s couple was so much like any couple who’d been together a long time that there was also a deep familiarity that was a great part of the pleasure on the journey we took with them all.

No big conclusions here. We just got home and these are my first reactions but I doubt they will change; go and see for yourself and comment here if you have thoughts to share.

On the Arrival of a First Child: Thirty-five Years Ago

Two years ago I wrote this piece to honor the pending birth of a friend’s child. It’s about the first days after the birth of a first child. Yesterday marked the 35th anniversary of that birth – so, one more time, here’s the memory – with gratitude and love.

What an emotional shock it has been to write this. I need to start with that; the feelings, years later, are still there.

What an emotional shock it has been to write this. I need to start with that; the feelings, years later, are still there. Since this baby shower is for one of my favorite bloggers, and
friends, I’m grateful to be part of it. Our task is to share those lovely early
moments with our brand new children. That’s why I’ve added this – which
may be the most perfect photo I own because it says just what we all know.
The connection of a mother and newborn is so complete that it’s almost
impossible – even with writers as remarkable as this community — to describe.
At least I can’t find words that say what I know this photo says.

This is actually my second son, very soon after he arrived.
He’s 28 now and more extraordinary than even I, proud mama, could have imagined
that cold November day in Roosevelt hospital in 1979. He and his brother
both started off with beautiful souls though. They are beautiful still.

When I think of those early days, it isn’t all the getting up at
night (although it could be) and it isn’t that I had so much trouble nursing
that I needed to supplement (although it could be) and it isn’t the absolutely
perfect terror that I might do them harm that accompanied the first days of
their lives (although it certainly, indubitably could be.)

Nope. Here’s what I remember, and what I wish for the two
of you and all you other moms and moms-in-waiting: it’s a cold winter
night, maybe after about a week as the new parent of son number 1. It’s
dark, but out the window you can see the boats going up and down the Hudson
River (even though our windows leak so there’s ice on our windows, on the
inside.) You hear a cry and struggle out of bed, grab a robe, go retrieve
this new little person from his crib, change him and move with him to the
bentwood rocking chair (of course there’s a rocking chair) facing the window.
And you hold him in your arms and you feed him. The dark envelops you,
the dim skyline across the river in New Jersey is the only light you have,
except for the tiny pinpoints of light on the tug boats and barges as they make
their way. And it’s silent. Not a sound. And, with this new
life in your arms, you rock gently back and forth. The gift of peace of
those nights in the rocker was so intense that as I write this, I can feel it.
If I let myself, I could cry.

I remember watching my mother with each infant – can still see
her face as she responded to them, thinking to myself then “Oh.
This must be the way she was with me. How beautiful. How
beautiful.”

And I remember this. My parents came to us very soon after
our first son was born, helped put the crib together, celebrated with us.
Late one night, as I stood with our baby in my arms, my dad walked into the
room. Looking at the two of us, in perfect peace, he said to me “NOW
do you understand?” Of course I did.

Meryl Streep and “It’s Complicated” – As If We Didn’t Know That

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My posts seem to run in bunches. After
two meditations on marriage in the past month, here I am again.

It’s all Meryl Streep’s fault. If you know what it feels like when your kids run off together when you thought you were all going to dinner, or to struggle to remain your own person in a long marriage — whether it ends or it doesn’t, or just to be married for a long time and build a family with a partner – you know this story.

We went with another couple also married 38 years. It’s hard to describe the shared recognition, the warmth we all felt at the familiar moments on the screen – the rare family dinners with our adult children, continuing to learn and grow – together or apart, watching the accomplishments and weddings and occasional rages of each kid, accepting the fact that we’ve entered that part of life where they’re on their own – and so are we. Children grow up and earn their own lives, careers begin to ebb, and those of us who are blessed spend those years with one another. Or, if we must, search for and find someone else to ease the way.

It was all there, gentle, funny, loving and true. Like looking in a mirror. Oh – and lest you wonder whether a movie about a 50-something (or maybe 60) couple recovering from a divorce – in the torrent of high-profile films and stars, it’s in the top five for the holidays. It may be complicated, but loving it isn’t complicated at all.

Sons Really Do Get Married, and Their Parents Really Do Love It, (and Nobody Cried)

There we are, our sweet sweet family with it's newly married eldest and his lovely brand-new wife. It's an out-of-body experience to watch your son get married, and this was a wonderful one. I'd been very nervous: would it go well after the two of them had worked so hard on every detail, would they have fun, would we cry, would I look ok (well, after all, those photos last forever.)

It all did go well. The groom (in the middle) was so joyous and ready, his speech so sure and calm; his wife so lovely and pleased, his brother (on the right)offering the loveliest, funniest, just-rightest toast ever. There were only 80 of us so over the weekend we became a kind of tribe, tables shifting as people moved around enjoying the event, and one another.

It was a great joy to me to see how much the boys feel for each other. I have, today, two of my dearest wishes: that my children be good friends and that each son find a partner who is wonderful, honorable and loving. So far so good.

I'd been thinking for months about the power of time, of change. One of my friends commented on my Facebook page that "I remember when Josh was xeroxing his little hands in the office!" I do too. And I thought I'd be consumed by those kinds of thoughts. But this just felt right, timely and good for everyone. No nostalgia, not "where are you going my little one, little one" "sunrise, sunset" thoughts at all. Just gratitude at the happiness and love that surrounded the bride, the groom and the rest of us. May it always be so.

Happy Mother’s Day

It being Friday afternoon and almost Shabbat, I'm leaving a brief Mother's Day greeting now. First, to say thank you to my kids for letting me be their mom and being such wonderful sons. Then to my husband for being my partner in crime.

But I also need to talk about my own mother, whose standards were high, whose generosity to others was boundless and who had a huge influence on so many. She was an art teacher – elementary school – and not a kid in our community would have been inside a museum if my mom hadn't taken them. Since she grew up in the Depression and World War II, she was very much part of the Greatest Generation – in every way.

She treated everyone like someone worth meeting, and listening to, and people knew it. All my friends wrote to me when she died with some personal remembrance. I lost her when both boys were in college, and I remember thinking so many times how much I would have loved to be able to ask her about having adult kids. How was she able to stay out of the middle of our lives when she had such a strong opinion about how we should be living them? Why did she let me hang around with the high school bad boys – even let them sleep in our basement when they were fighting with their parents, without worrying what influence they might have had over us? How did she feel as we got married? Was she as nervous as I am now?

I do know though that, whatever her answers would be, and despite some daughterly issues, her faith in us, her encouragement, her belief that we needed careers and missions of our own all empowered us to become the women we are. She was very private and there are many things I wish I knew, and others I wish I could have told her, but they were not the center of things – just things.

She was a great mom. I miss her. And I'm so grateful that I do.

ROSH HASHANAH ONE REDUX: ONE YEAR AGO

I’m posting this again, one year later, because the feelings remain and the holiday arrived last night. I’ve set the timer to post this during the holiday [That way I didn’t have to break the rules and post it during down time.] When you hear about things like the urgency of the bail out vote because of the Jewish Holiday of Rosh Hashanah – this is what they’re talking about.
September 12, 2007 A NEW YEAR, A 36th WEDDING ANNIVERSARY, A LOT TO THINK ABOUT

Tonight begins Rosh Hashanah – the New Year celebration that launches the holy season of the Days of Awe that continues until Yom Kippur – the Day of Atonement. It’s also a huge day for me – in more than one way. Rick and I were married 36 years ago today.
On a boat on the Monongahela River. We’ve been through a lot – maybe
more than most couples – but we’ve hung on and we’re reaping the
rewards of a shared history. So to have this remarkable landmark fall
on the eve of a holy day of renewal is really something.

This is another anniversary, too. Our third living an observant
life. We first came here for Rosh Hashanah services 4 years ago, met our remarkable rabbi and began the journey that has led us to a new, moving, inspiring, frustrating, challenging, occasionally painful, sometimes completely uplifting life.
We share new feelings, new friends, new aspirations to goodness and a
sense of God, new challenges and inspirations. AND we’re still sharing
them with each other. That too is remarkable.

Now as we move toward observance of these days, toward prayers and
meals and friends and — especially joyful – a visit from one of our
sons and his girl friend, I am both grateful and anxious. We are
supposed to think about debts and obligations, sins and redemption. I
still carry a painful resentment – toward someone who
has hurt me deeply and, I suspect, believes that I hurt them. I need
to deal with this but am still struggling to figure out how. But I
know I will – that I must. That’s the other gift of this season – a
confrontation with the personal flaws that impede our prayers and our
happiness.

To those who have offered us so much guidance and support, with whom
we’ve had such fun and such meaningful prayers (and meals – and visits)
I wish you the gift of as much goodness as you’ve brought us – an
enormous deluge of joy. To our dear rabbi and his family a special
thanks for being our gateway to this new life and all that it has
meant.

And to Rick, my partner, love and best friend, eternal gratitude to you
for your courage and determination, love and generosity, talents and
humor and incredible incredible soul. Happy anniversary. Thanks for
the memories, the adventures, our amazing children, and this
astonishing, still emerging journey. L’shana tova.

Posted by Cynthia Samuels on September 12, 2007 at 09:54 AM

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SHOWER THEM WITH LOVE – FOR KRISTEN, AND ALL OF US

What an emotional shock it has been to write this. I need to start with that; the feelings, years later, are still there.

Since this baby shower is for one of my favorite bloggers, and friends, the inimitable creator of Motherhood Uncensored, our own Kristen, (and her friend Rebecca, of Girl’s Gone Child,) and since it’s organized by four amazing bloggers in their own right, I’m grateful to be part of it. Our task is to share those lovely early moments with our brand new children. That’s why I’ve added this – which may be the most perfect photo I own because it says just what we all know. The connection of a mother and newborn is so complete that it’s almost impossible – even with writers as remarkable as this community — to describe. At least I can’t find words that say what I know this photo says.

This is actually my second son, very soon after he arrived. He’s 28 now and more extraordinary than even I, proud mama, could have imagined that cold November day in Roosevelt hospital in 1979. He and his brother both started off with beautiful souls though. They are beautiful still.

When I think of those early days, it isn’t all the getting up at night (although it could be) and it isn’t that I had so much trouble nursing that I needed to supplement (although it could be) and it isn’t the absolutely perfect terror that I might do them harm that accompanied the first days of their lives (although it certainly, indubitably could be.)

Nope. Here’s what I remember, and what I wish for the two of you and all you other moms and moms-in-waiting: it’s a cold winter night, maybe after about a week as the new parent of son number 1. It’s dark, but out the window you can see the boats going up and down the Hudson River (even though our windows leak so there’s ice on our windows, on the inside.) You hear a cry and struggle out of bed, grab a robe, go retrieve this new little person from his crib, change him and move with him to the bentwood rocking chair (of course there’s a rocking chair) facing the window. And you hold him in your arms and you feed him. The dark envelops you, the dim skyline across the river in New Jersey is the only light you have, except for the tiny pinpoints of light on the tug boats and barges as they make their way. And it’s silent. Not a sound. And, with this new life in your arms, you rock gently back and forth. The gift of peace of those nights in the rocker was so intense that as I write this, I can feel it. If I let myself, I could cry.

I remember watching my mother with each infant – can still see her face as she responded to them, thinking to myself then "Oh. This must be the way she was with me. How beautiful. How beautiful."

And I remember this. My parents came to us very soon after our first son was born, helped put the crib together, celebrated with us. Late one night, as I stood with our baby in my arms, my dad walked into the room. Looking at the two of us, in perfect peace, he said to me "NOW do you understand?" Of course I did.