Off to Camp 2012

Today was David's first day at OSRUI. Last year, I wrote a prayer for him as he went off to camp. It still holds true, so I'm reposting it here today. My heart is now in so many places....

A prayer for my dear son embarking on his second third year at summer camp...

May you find learning and growth of all kinds.
May you gain independence and feel comfort in your Jewish identity.
May the mosquitoes be guided away from you, and may the raindrops not fall into your tent (too much).
May the food be delicious and the pool the right temperature.
May you seek out new experiences and try new things (vegetables would be nice but I'm doubtful).
May you smile brilliantly for the camp photographer and show up daily in the online photo albums.
May you avoid the camp crud and may you never lose your socks.
May you take a shower and brush your teeth every day.
May you not send wet towels to the laundry, because the laundry is charged by weight.
May your arrows fly straight, your fishing line never get tangled, and your tetherball not whack you in the nose.
May you not fall off the top bunk.
May you not spend your whole canteen account on silly junk.
May you not lose your hat and water bottle in the first week.
May you not lose your way in the night to the outdoor bathroom.
May you write me at least one letter besides the mandatory first-day-letter.
May you create a life-long friendship (at least one, if not many).
May you  renew old friendships, since they are the most precious. (Are 9 year olds allowed to have "old friends"?)
May you learn more and more about yourself and your spirit and being.

May you return home in one piece with all your belongings,
and may you ever yearn to return to the land of summer camp.

His shirt says a lot about what is on our mind...

 We also left behind the little girl...just for a few days. But already she wants to stay longer. Which is exactly how I feel about camp....

Change in Routine

There are so many changes in our routine these days.
We notice a lot of things.
But this one is pretty big...
Our family isn't going to camp.

Don't worry, my kids are.
Camp is still one of the most important things in my life, one of my inspirations and my passions.

But this year I have a different place to be.

Today was one of the hardest days.
Because today was the day that we were supposed to all be at camp.
Together.
With our friends.
And yes, I know how blessedly lucky we are to spend the time together at camp each summer.

So we had to find a way to mark the occasion anyway. Tomorrow is the first day!

It's not quite the same.
But perhaps a new family ritual has been born....


See all the posts I've written about camp in previous years.

Owie Owie Owie...Ding!

We tend to follow to the school of parenting that minimalizes things:
Did you bump your head? We'll give it a nice gentle rub and a big kiss.
Is there an owie? Here's a bandaid. Are you sure you need a bandaid? Is it bleeding? Can I just give it a kiss and it will be all better? Okay.

Michael heard a comedian, Alex Cole, do a routine many years ago.
He explained that a magic way to cure any "owie" is to rub it three times and say "owie owie owie DING!" And we still use that wisdom. There's a hand motion to the "ding" part, by the way. It's all in the showmanship.

We're not callous. We dole out kisses and gentle pats and caresses. We hug and we wipe tears.
But we tend not to make a big deal of things.
"Are you bleeding?" is frequently how we start a conversation with children who come downstairs after bedtime shema and kisses.

Today, Solly got a little bump - I don't even remember what he was doing, it wasn't that big of a deal -- and I gave his little kepele (Yiddish for "little head") a little kiss. "It's okay," I said. And he waddled off...

And as I breathed in his baby scent, I realized that leukemia just doesn't work that way.

There's no owie owie owie ding.
It would be much easier if there was...

Sometimes a hat and a visit from Dad seem quite curative, though.

The Two of Us

With all the upheaval in our home, I've noticed how much my kids all love each other.

It makes my mama's heart so proud. It's what I want for them above almost anything else - to have their siblings as their bosom friends.

So now that there are only two at home...
(David got a wonderful weekend away with friends, and as you know...Sam is holed up at the hospital.)

The dynamics are quite different.
Yael has never been "the oldest," and in this new role, she is excelling.

She might be just a tad...bossy opinionated instructive to her little brother.

But it's beautiful to watch, since he is totally in love with her.

Memories of my Bubbie

My grandmother, Rose, died this week.
In the midst of all that is going on in our lives.
She was 96 years old, and she lived a wonderful life. She was one of my favorite people in the whole world.

When I was a kid, she was always around. She drove me to orthodontist appointments, made french toast, took me swimming, let me eat whatever I wanted, and basically was my biggest cheerleader. She taught me to bake - mandelbread, carrot cake, apple cake, and more...

She was always concerned for and about me - was I eating enough? Was I sleeping enough? Was I working too hard? And she was so darn proud of me. I always wanted to make sure I was worthy of her pride - she was, of course, completely unbiased!

Above all her life's blessings - she truly adored her grandchildren (me, of course!) and her great-grandchildren (there are actually others besides mine, but hey - this is my blog!)

A long life. I will miss her every day.

Taken this past Thanksgiving

At Solly's brit milah

 

May her memory shine brightly for a blessing.

Zichrona livracha.

 

Take the Old and Make it New, Take the New and Make it Holy

That title above (a little longer than a usual blog title), is one of my favorite Jewish ideas.

We are always looking at "old" things and bringing them into a new day.
Then we are tasked with bringing holiness into each new day, new idea, new plan.

About two years ago, I learned to do a 6-strand braided challah.
It makes perfect sense to me to braid 6 strands, one for each member of my family.
I braid in the love each week.

This is NOT a challah I made. Mine are never this pretty. So I borrowed this picture from Instructables rather than show off my somewhat embarrassingly funny looking challot. My challot taste wonderful. Someday I will master the art of beautiful appearance as well.

On Thursday night, I baked challah. I usually do it on Friday, but I knew that I was headed up to the hospital to spend Shabbat with Sam, and I wanted to take a challah with me. My regular recipe, from my friend Ruth Ross, makes two challot, but often I only bake one and freeze the second batch or make a set of cinnamon rolls for Shabbat morning. As I divided the dough in half and started rolling the strands, I realized how precious this shared challah was going to be.

Six strands, representing the members of our family...one batch split into two challot...eaten separately but spiritually together.

An old ritual - making challah.
Now made new by circumstances that I never ever imagined.
But yet...we find holiness, even in the newness.
In the darkness, we find light.
Even if it's only a piece of bread, it brings comfort.
If we don't look for the light, we're going to end up sitting in the dark.
So we eat challah and salt it with our tears....

Nothing is the same

Many of you may know already, but things have changed for our family.
Our son, Sam, was diagnosed with leukemia.
It is rotten awful terrible SUCKS.

But since I'm nothing if not consistent...a blog has begun.
Superman Sam is open for business.
I want to tell Sam's story...for ourselves and our family and friends.

I hope the blog is really really really short.
And I am planning for a happy ending.

Thanks for joining me.
Thanks for loving us.
Thanks for everything.