What's It Like to Have Four Kids?

"So, what's it like having four kids?" I get asked this reasonably often, especially by people with three kids who are considering another, or by people with one who can't imagine having more than that.

Comic Jim Gaffigan (now a father of five) has a great response. He says, "If you want to know what it's like to have a fourth, just imagine you're drowning...and then someone hands you a baby." (See his hilarious take on having 4 kids and home birth here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GEbZrY0G9PI).

Now that my fourth is almost a year old, I find having four is not that much more difficult than having three. You're already used to being "outnumbered," you're already used to mentally counting kids and locating them and your eyes darting around looking for the little one and calling out to the biggest one to help you with something and storing and retrieving hand-me-downs and buckling multiple car seats and feeding many, many mouths.

So what's it like to have four kids? It's like today:

G-d-knows-when-o'clock-A.M.: I, my husband, and the 11-month-old are sleeping in bed. 3-year-old climbs in, too, proceeds to sleep on baby's arm. Baby tries to roll over and can't, wakes up, and I nurse him back to sleep. Only one of numerous awakenings by said baby.

7:00 A.M.: Everyone is getting up for the day when the 5-year-old throws up. Supposed to be a short day at school followed by parent-teacher conferences. 5-year-old will stay home, but 8-year-old will go, because he's feeling fine.

8:00 A.M.: Dad takes 8-year-old to school. 5-year-old throws up again.

9:00 A.M.: 3-year-old has annual well visit at doctor's and 11-month-old has appointment for flu shot. Must drag sick 5-year-old along. He throws up in the car (fortunately into a barf bag which I so wisely brought with us). 3-year-old does great at doctor, flu shot administered to baby without drama.

9:30 A.M.: School calls to double check that 5-year-old is caught up on vaccinations (he is, we establish).

10:00 A.M: Back home from doctor. 5-year-old lies down to take a nap. 3-year-old wants a snack. Snack provided. I try to get some work done.

11:00 A.M.: Baby nurses to sleep. 3-year-old wants another snack. I tell him to wait for lunch. I try to get some work done.

11:30 A.M.: 5-year-old wants toast. 3-year-old decides he also wants toast. I want last night's dinner leftovers. Baby wakes but nurses back to sleep. 3-year-old wants the rest of my lunch. I give it to him and get myself some crackers.

12:00: 5-year-old feels better. Everyone has eaten. I get a little work done.

1:00 P.M.: Time to pick up 8-year-old from school and then stay for book fair and teacher conferences. Older three play on the school playground while the baby roams the classrooms during the conferences and attempts to choke on small objects.

2:10 P.M.: Round everyone up and come home. Everyone wants a snack. Oldest has homework. Middle two watch TV. I get a little more work done.

4:15 P.M.: Round everyone up again to go to the bank, have dinner, then drop the oldest two off at Hebrew school.

6:30 P.M.: Arrive home with 3-year-old and baby, nurse baby, who has fallen asleep in the car seat and is now cranky but shouldn't really be napping, while 3-year-old watches TV and demands my assistance with selecting a show.

7:15 P.M.: Start giving warning that it will be time to get ready for bed soon. Await return of two older boys and Daddy from Hebrew school.

7:30 P.M.: Baby is crying hysterically while I try to get work done, so I take him to nurse him some more and hope he goes to sleep. He does not.

8:00 P.M.: Daddy and older two get home. Toddler goes running to say hi. Bedtime chaos ensues and resolves in the next 25 minutes. 3-year-old tells me to go away, so I take the baby to try once again to get him to sleep for the night.

9:00 P.M.: Baby is finally asleep for now. 3-year-old wants more attention but is told in no uncertain terms to go to sleep. Older two are drifting off. I go back to my computer to maybe get some work done.

9:45 P.M.: I've decided to practice guitar a little. I hear footsteps and find that the 8-year-old has emerged to get himself some water. Then the baby wakes up. I nurse him back to sleep, then return to my computer to finally (?) get some work done!

10:45 P.M.: Working steadily. Now the nightly question: Go to bed now and leave work unfinished in the hope I can finish it tomorrow, or stay up and finish it so I can move on to something else tomorrow? Also, I should get to the dishes at some point.

11:25 P.M.: I give up. I'm going to bed now. Dishes are not done and neither is work, but at least all four kids are asleep...for now.

So what's it like to have four kids? There's always something to do, always something going on. Someone is always pulling you in a direction you weren't planning to go, while another needs you to go in yet a third direction. Constant interruptions, constant noise, constant LIFE. It's lively. It's exciting. It's schlepping and cleaning up and serving and assisting. It's carving out moments to do what needs doing and finding minutes to do what you want to do.

And when you climb into bed at the end of a long day and snuggle up to your precious young one, you breathe deeply, sigh with relief, and mentally prepare for what surprises tomorrow may bring.

It's like...it's like you're drowning...and someone hands you a baby. And you snuggle that baby allll night.

I'm So Happy My Kids Love Summer Camp

When I was a kid, I had to go to summer camp. Not being a very outdoorsy or athletic child, I generally hated camp. I didn't like swimming, particularly. I didn't like being outside all day. I didn't like a lot of the group activities we did. I have some good memories, like archery and acting electives, some of the art projects, things like that. But, generally, traditional summer camps and I were not a good match.

There was one year when I attended a youth theater camp. I loved that. I really enjoyed learning about acting and directing a play. I couldn't be in the play because we were leaving camp the day before the performance, but they assigned me the role of Assistant Director. I had a blast. It was indoors and interesting for me, and I was so relieved not to be forced to spend the day in the scorching sun running around and doing crazy team activities I didn't like.

So when my son got old enough to attend summer camp, I had to make a decision. "Make" him go to camp to get the experience, or "save" him from the hell that is summer camp (to me)?

My rabbi and his wife had a small but energetic summer camp that they ran through the synagogue. My son already had quite a few friends in that camp, I was close with the rabbi's wife and trusted her, and they made the camp sound very exciting. They took trips twice a week, went swimming, did lots of different types of activities, and kept the kids very, very busy all day. It sounded like something I would exactly hate, but when I told my son about it, he was excited. He wanted to go. So I signed him up.

He had a blast, and is now attending for a third summer. His younger brother is attending fort he first time this year, and was equally excited. I'm only sending them for a week this summer, and in past years he went for two weeks, but it's a great way to break up the school vacation and give them a new experience.

A bonus to all of it is that it's a Jewish camp, so they are spending the day with Jewish friends, and there is a Jewish element to everything they do. They say a blessing over the food they eat, they learn about Shabbat, they sing Jewish songs, and they foster a love of Judaism. This extra bit is what really sold me, because my kids go to a regular public school, so this is a great boost to their Jewish lives and sense of self.

My kids came back from their first and second days of camp bubbling over with excitement, both for the activities they'd done that day and for those planned for later in the week. The five-year-old was anxious to share his bunk cheer, and the seven-year-old had a whole narrative about what had happened at the pool. They can't wait to go in the morning and are happily exhausted on the drive home.

If my kids ever came to me and said they hated camp, I wouldn't make them go, or I would try to find some other activity or camp that would speak more to their interests. I don't need childcare, although it's nice for them to be able to get out of the house and be with other people besides boring Mommy all day, and I don't want them to grow up resenting those weeks spent in the hot sun. But, conversely, since they do love it, I will make the effort to have them attend every year, so they can grow up with this fond memory and a healthy family tradition.

It's important for us to remember, as parents, that our kids are not us. They will like some things we don't, and they will dislike some things we like. We want to share our positive experiences with them and protect them from negative ones. But my negative experience may not be so for them. And something I loved as a kid may not interest them.

My kids are like me in a lot of ways, but they are also unlike me in many. They are exuberant, friendly, outgoing, and engaging little boys, compared to the shy, introverted, slow-to-warm, timid little girl I was. They like to be in the thick of things, and I liked to be a wallflower. They like new experiences, and I liked the familiar and routine. I want to honor the people they are and help them continue to extend those boundaries and enrich their world.

Should We "Dread" Our Children's Growing Up?

The other day, I wrote a post delving into my feelings about having only boys. It was very popular and got a very positive response, but talking about it with some friends got me thinking a bit more.

In that previous post, I wrote that I sometimes joke about my relief that I won't have to experience the girl tween years, or puberty, or uniquely feminine drama. A few days later, I met up with a friend who has a toddler daughter, and we talked about how she is dreading those years. We laughed about how with boys, they get angry, they punch each other, and it's done with, whereas girls let things simmer and hold grudges. The day after having this conversation, I met a woman who said her grandmother had four boys but really wanted a daughter, tried one more time, and the fifth was a girl. I have encounters like that a lot. Somehow, when I had just two boys, it wasn't cause for comment, since having two kids is pretty average, and you just got lucky to have two of the same gender. If you have three, you start getting the question, "Were you trying for a girl?" as if somehow your family isn't complete unless you have at least one of each. But once you hit four, people are certain that you've "kept going" because you're "trying for the girl" and that you will keep going because you desire that daughter so strongly. Is it the same for parents with four girls? Do they get strangers asking if they're "trying for the boy?" I don't know. I imagine so. (Any parents of three-plus girls want to weigh in?) I usually just say that my husband and I wanted four kids, and this was just the luck of the draw in terms of sex. We weren't "trying" for anything, except "trying" to have four kids.

I keep going back in my mind to the idea of "dreading" a certain stage, though. I looked up the word "dread." It means: "anticipate with great apprehension or fear." And I don't like that wording. We should "dread" getting a diagnosis of a terrible disease (G-d forbid!). We should "dread" a terrible earthquake (or another winter like those of you on the East Coast of the US are having) - G-d forbid! We "dread" inevitable sadnesses or tragedies, like the death of close loved ones.

But "dreading" our children growing up and entering new phases? That doesn't seem right. Our children growing and maturing and attaining new facets of their personalities, new skills, new expectations, a new outlook on life - these are not things to be afraid of. These are causes for joy! This means we're doing something right! Our children are alive, thriving, opening up to new experiences and ideas.

Sure, there are phases that are more stressful than others. I imagine nine-year-old girls give their parents plenty of stressful moments. There are questions we're concerned we won't be able to answer, problems we hope they won't have to face (but probably will), traumas and difficult times we don't want them to have to go through (but they probably will). And we can anticipate how we'll address their worries when they come up, how we'll respond to their misbehavior, how we'll guide and direct them as they grow. But to "dread" the inevitable growing-up of our beloved children? I'm not sure that's the right word to use.

Some parents "dread" the day their child asks where babies come from, or they "dread" the day their elementary schooler asks about the events of 9/11/01, or Columbine, or Sandy Hook. Some parents "dread" having to explain why people have skin of a different color, or why someone at school made fun of them for their weight or religion or hair cut or interests, or why Chris has two Mommies, or where Grandma is, or what happened to the dog. And we do worry about these things, but is it intense fear? Is it great apprehension? I hope not!

What I'm finding as my kids get older and start asking questions like those is that, even if I "dreaded" getting the question or having the topic come up, once it did, it wasn't as bad as I expected. I know my kids pretty well, and I have a pretty good idea of what will upset them and what won't, what will interest them and what won't, what they'll understand and what they won't. I enjoy explaining things to them. I enjoy anticipating the next question they'll ask or the next idea they'll present. And so when something does come up, I find I do have the tools to handle it.

So if I had a girl, would I "dread" her getting her period, or having to explain about safe sex, or issues about her appearance, or things like that? No. Sure, I'd worry about them. I'd play out scripts and scenarios in my head in anticipation. Her behavior probably would stress me out, and I'd jokingly complain about having a girl and having these problems with her. But I also think I would be grateful to have a daughter. Just as I'm grateful now for having my sons.

And there are more serious things that might happen to our children, or that our children might do, as they grow up. And I think it's fair to dread some of those things. But the normal course of maturing is not something to dread. Having a tween girl or boy in itself is not a cause for terror. Knowing your sweet toddler daughter will one day be a hormonal mess isn't cause for "great apprehension or fear." I think, quite the opposite, that we should dread our children not becoming hormonal pimple machines! We would dread the idea of our children not experiencing the fullness of life, taking risks, and simply growing up. There are plenty of parents out there dreading the day they don't have their daughters giving them sass or their sons watching porn in their rooms.

Now, I realize that when we talk this way, we're exaggerating, using sarcasm as a defense mechanism. I know that saying we dread various stages isn't a literal paralyzing fear. It doesn't mean we aren't grateful for our children or that we don't love them. It doesn't mean we regret having them. But I think it's important to have perspective, too. Often the things we're most concerned about, once they come up, aren't as horrible as we anticipated. And knowing that we can anticipate those moments can help us manage those fears in advance, so we don't have to dread them.

So, yes, I joke that I'm glad not to have to deal with "girl" stuff, and I know I won't have the stress of my daughter coming home and asking for birth control, or having a fight with her best friend, or being made fun of because she doesn't have an American Girl doll, but I also won't have the joy that a daughter brings.

Maybe it's time to focus on the positive.

What are your favorite things about having a son? What are your favorite things about having a daughter? Did you have a preference before your baby was born? What are you most looking forward to sharing with your kids as they grow up?

I am a Mother to Sons

I've been debating whether to write this down at all, or to write it down but not publish it, or to write it down and then delete it, or just to think about it and then squash down the thoughts. I'm still not sure if it should be out there, but I try to be honest on my blog and with my life, so here it is.

I become very jealous of people when I hear they have a baby girl.

There, I said it.

I love my four boys. I can't imagine life with a daughter. I can't imagine my life being any different than it is. I have four sons, and I don't regret having them, I don't regret having four, I don't regret any of it. I love my sons. I love saying I have four sons. I love saying "my four sons." I like to think I'm raising four boys who will become four wonderful men and marry four wonderful women and provide me with scads of grandchildren, boys and girls. I like to think I'm contributing positively to the next generation of men, a generation of men who are respectful of women, honest about their emotions, not afraid to express love, abhorrent of injustice and violence. I hope that I am raising four intelligent, ambitious, successful human beings who will make the world, or their little corner of it, a better place by the fact of their being in it. (Is that a bit arrogant? Maybe. But isn't that what parents really hope for in their kids? That they are raising people they will be proud of?)

But when I see a friend post a picture of their new baby girl, or a picture of their little girl in a cute dress, or talk about their little girl doing something girly like having a tea party with her dolls or wanting to paint her nails or do her hair...

I admit to being jealous, and a little sad.

I always assumed I'd have a girl. I thought if I had four kids, they'd be two girls and two boys. I thought I'd have a girl first. You want to have a girl first, you see, because then she'll help with her baby siblings. She'll be a little mama.

What I have are four boys. And my oldest boy? He helps so much with his younger brothers. And my boys like getting new clothes, and my second boy once asked to paint his nails, and there was that time four of us sat and had a tea party together (granted, we made gross pretend soup, but still, it was kind of a tea party).

But there was this one time, when I was pregnant with #4 and hadn't found out the gender yet, that I saw a cute little yellow dress at Kohl's in the toddler girls section, and I picked it up and admired it and then put it in my cart and started toward the register, and then laughed and put it back on the rack when I realized what I was doing. But I really was going to buy it, because I was sure I was going to have a daughter.

I was supposed to have a daughter.

I always imagined how I would raise a girl. How I would teach her about life and womanhood, and how I would be clueless about makeup and fashion, and how she would see that you can grow up to be a strong, happy, fulfilled woman even without those things, and how there are lots of ways to feel fulfilled in life. I thought I would be there for her when she was pregnant, and pass along all my knowledge about pregnancy and birth and breastfeeding. Not that I can't do those things for a future daughter-in-law, but it's not the same, in my mind.

I joke about how I'm so relieved not to have a girl, that I don't have to deal with the tween girl hormones or synced up cycles. I laugh and say I'm so glad I don't have to experience the drama of the 4-year-old girl or the terror of the teen years.

I joke, and I smile, and I laugh, but...

I love my sons so much, and I hope that I'm able to teach them all the things that will make them exemplary husbands and fathers, even though I'm not sure I really know how. And I love my sons so much, and one day they'll bring home a woman to the Passover seder or a Shabbat dinner or to Thanksgiving and say, "Mom, I want you to meet my fiancee," and then I can look forward to having a daughter-in-law and granddaughters to bond with.

And I love my sons so much, and four kids is plenty, and I don't think I can do it again, the pregnancy and the birth and the baby years and the toddler years and the diapers and the sleepless nights, even if it meant I would have a daughter. Even then.

So I mourn the daughter I will never have.

And I'm sad for myself when my friends have baby girls.

And I gather my four beautiful sons into my arms and I love them so much and I can't imagine my life any other way.

G-d gave me boys.

I am a mother to sons.

Four Boys? You've Got Your Hands Full!

When I'm out grocery shopping with my four boys (and having four boys requires a lot of grocery shopping!), I get a lot of looks. People mentally count my kids. People watch me go by with my train of ducklings. I sometimes feel like I'm leading an invasion whenever we all go somewhere. My kids are noticeable, with two redheads, a taller-than-average 7-year-old, the 5-year-old's big brown eyes, the 2-year-old's contagious grin. They are not quiet kids, and they are not shy kids.

I admit that I'm "that" mom sometimes. My middle two, for some reason, go nuts in stores. They run up and down the aisles shrieking like banshees. They grab each other, knock each other over, get in other shoppers' way. They touch every single price tag. I can't get the toddler to sit in the cart if he doesn't want to. I can't get the 5-year-old to walk sedately beside the cart no matter how many different ways I frame it.

On the bright side, they don't knock things off shelves or break things, so I've got that going for me.

Thankfully, I live in an area full of very friendly and forgiving people. I get indulgent smiles from grandmotherly ladies. I get wondering comments like, "Wow, four boys?! You've got your hands full!" I get commiseration. I'm grateful for all of it, because we parents of young children often feel that everyone is judging our parenting all the time, and it's nice to know that most of the time, the people watching understand that sometimes little boys just want to run around. (And who could blame them for not wanting to go grocery shopping?)

I hope that I remember those amused glances, those understanding comments, the occasional compliment when my kids are grown. I hope that one day I'm that lovely grandmotherly lady who sees a young mom come in with her brood and tells her she's doing a good job, tries to make her baby smile, and commiserates about the nonstop energy of little boys. I imagine that 30 years from now, I'll be the friendly woman in the grocery store who tells that young mom, "Oh, yes, I had four boys. They're all grown up and married now, and they treat me like a queen."

I want to remember this feeling of overwhelmed-ness, of frustration, of burnout, because one day I want to offer the comforting smile, the gentle joke, and the compliment to that young mom in the store with her four boys (or girls). I want to remember how much a kind word can lift a weary soul. I want to be the one to make the toddler's tears turn to smiles, to joke with the 5-year-old, to make silly faces at the baby, so that sagging mother can finish her shopping. I want to be the one who steps aside with my one loaf of bread and carton of eggs so the mom with the full cart and melting-down 2-year-old can just get finished and get home already.

So thank you to the understanding mothers of grown children who have smiled at me and said hello. Thank you to the kind store employees who are patient with me and my crazy kids. Thank you to the other mothers of small kids who join me in a resigned sigh as we cross paths from aisle to aisle. And thank you to the sweet grandfathers who joke with my little ones and tell me about their grandchildren. You brighten my day so that I, in turn, can one day brighten someone else's.

Please Don't Tell Me I'm a Supermom

When I tell people I've gone to the store, or out to eat, or made dinner, or gotten a few hours of work done, or some other apparently monumental task while being responsible for all four of my kids, I get exclamations of amazement. "You're a supermom!", they'll say. Or, "I only have two, and I can barely manage most nights!" Or, "I don't know how you do it!" I know these are meant as compliments and are honest reactions to something outside their own frame of reference. And I appreciate them as such.

But it makes me uncomfortable just the same. Because secretly, deep down, it releases all kinds of insecurities. All I can think of is all the things I've done wrong, the mistakes I've made, the things I wish I had managed to do. I berate myself for not paying enough attention to the kids, for letting them fend for themselves while I work in another room, or, conversely, for spending a few hours with them instead of working a few more hours to pad my paycheck. Or, for neglecting both work and kids to sit on the toilet and play Candy Crush in private. I should hold my baby more, hug my five-year-old more, draw with my toddler more, and read with my seven-year-old more. I should put the phone down during dinner and make them tell me about their day. I should try harder to get the toddler to take a regular nap. I should get the middle two dressed before noon. I should take them to the park more so they can run around on sunny days. I should replace their bike helmets and let them out front to ride. I should fold their laundry. I should wipe down the kitchen counters, sweep the floor of the toddler's food-leavings, and change the baby's diaper and give him a bath.

I see other people accomplishing things I haven't been able to, and I think I have no right to those compliments. I'm not "doing it all." I'm not a supermom. And when you tell me I am, you're belittling yourself. You're negating all of the amazing things you've managed to do, like have a dance party in the living room and do an art project with your preschooler, like cook healthy meals all week long, get your car washed, and clean your toilets. Like sign your second-grader up for soccer, acquire all the gear he needs, and attend all his games. Like save up for two years to take the family to Disneyland. Like start your own business and run it successfully, work full time outside the house and still get the laundry folded and the lawn mowed, and remember to pick up a birthday present for the party this weekend.

I'm just a mom. Some things, I know I do well. Some things, I know I could improve. And, looking at you, looking at how well dressed you are, how neat and clean your house is, how you make healthy meals all the time and get your housework done regularly and limit screen time to just the weekends, and have money left in the bank at the end of the month, some things make me feel very, very inadequate. Not because I think you're judging me, but because I'm judging myself.

Please don't tell me I'm a supermom. I don't feel all that super, and I don't have a cape. Sure, I made it to the grocery store, but I nearly lost the stroller, forgot to buy half the things we needed, and left the reusable bags at home. Yeah, I got the oldest to school on time, but the other three are still in pajamas and the toddler's diaper needs changing. Absolutely, I made dinner and put the dishes in the dishwasher, but I didn't make them clean up their toys, there are shoes everywhere, and the baby is crying in his swing while I rinse the last of the dishes.

No one's life is perfect. I think as moms we only see our own shortcomings while we admire the accomplishments of all moms around us. I'm wondering how she can remember to put jackets on both of her kids and manage to keep them from running around screaming in the store, while she's wondering how I can load four kids into the car in half the time it takes her to put her two in. I'm wondering how she finds the time to make dinners from scratch every night and keep the living room free of clutter, while she's wondering how I can work part time from home with three kids in the house.

I'll tell you what, if you buy the capes, I'll wash them. But don't blame me if I forget to put them in the dryer.

Playing with My Kids: Coming Together over "Tea" and "Soup"

Until we moved, we regularly attended synagogue on Saturdays at our local Chabad house. When we moved, one of our many tasks was to find a new place to go on Saturdays, so this weekend, we visited one of the Chabad houses within a reasonable distance of our somewhat isolated new home.

This particular Chabad house has their services and offices located on the first floor of a commercial office building. They showed me and my kids to a room where they could play while my husband joined the prayer service. They said usually other kids start coming a bit later. I didn't want to leave my kids alone there without supervision, so I hung around with them while they built with Mega Blocks and Duplos.

The thing about Saturdays is, it's the one day a week that my phone is not in or near my hand. Because it's Shabbat, the day of rest, the use of electricity, telephones, televisions, etc., is customarily avoided. We are not particularly strict about the laws of Shabbat at home, but when in synagogue, out of respect for the day and the people around us, we leave all of that in the car and assume the sacred space of Shabbat.

This meant that, for a while, I was extremely bored and found myself reading a copy of "Mrs. Piggle Wiggle" that someone had left lying open on the couch just outside the room where my kids were playing. After some time, I wandered in to the room to see what they were up to, and I found my almost two-year-old son, G, playing with a plastic tea set, pretending to pour coffee into a mug. He "drank" some of the coffee, then offered some to me. I sat down with him at the table. Soon, my 4.5-year-old son S joined us and started making "soup" in one of the plastic bowls. Then the 6.5-year-old, N, came to see what we were doing. S told us he was making soup and then pretended to pour coffee and tea into the "soup" bowl. N and I said, "Ewww!" and asked what kind of soup it was before the coffee and tea were added. S informed us it was "tuna soup." "Eww!" we said again. We then took turns coming up with the weirdest and yuckiest-sounding soup recipes we could think of. Adding chocolate syrup to almost any savory soup seemed to be the "ew" factor of choice.

Tea Set on display at the Museum of Hartlepool. From Flickr.

The wife of the rabbi appeared with her daughters, greeted us, and told N she might have some Lego around if he wanted. She couldn't find the Lego, but she did find more pieces to the tea set and some toy pots and pans with which we could continue to make soup. G was delighted to find another spoon and a fork to go with the one spoon we had uncovered at first. We spent quite a while making crazy soup concoctions and pretending to eat and drink.

Normally, when I do get down on the floor (figuratively or literally) to play with my kids, I get bored pretty fast. I've learned I'm not alone in this - some have a greater tolerance for the repetition and simplicity of toddler games than others. My style is usually to be nearby but watching, rather than participating in, the play. My three are pretty good at playing together and finding things to do, but an almost-seven-year-old doesn't always want to do the same things as an almost-two-year-old, and that's perfectly reasonable. But for those few minutes, drinking pretend tea and fake, unappetizing soup, all four of us were engaged. No one asked to play with my phone. Facebook notifications didn't call to me for attention. No screens came between us and our silly game. It was just me and my boys.

When you take away all the other possibilities, all the other things you "could" be doing right now - whether it's paid work, house work, or Candy Crush (er...yes, guilty on all counts) - a simple pretend tea party brings the whole family to the table.

Parents' Responsibilities to Others Versus Others' Responsibility to Parents

I was musing about this while I "supervise" my house being packed up, and I thought it might make a good quick little blog post.

I took the kids out for breakfast this morning to Coco's, a family restaurant similar to Denny's or IHOP in terms of ambiance and food. It was quite empty, given that it was after 9:00 on a weekday morning, except for a few older couples enjoying some coffee and a mature woman with a calendar and iPhone doing...something. The hostess showed us to a section and told us to sit anywhere and that she would be right back with a high chair for the toddler.

My two older kids immediately sat down in the first booth, on a bench back-to-back with the lone woman tapping away on her iPhone. I monitored G while we waited for the hostess to bring a high chair for him, keeping him from either running off or climbing into another booth. iPhone lady shot me a look and I realized that N was kicking the bench, which had to be annoying to her. I told N to stop kicking, figuring that would be that. N did stop kicking, and then woman said, "Actually, could you sit somewhere else? Or should I move?" not in the politest of tones. I hesitated, then asked my kids to move to a booth farther back (two tables away), which they did, cheerfully (and noisily). I felt like the woman's eyes were drilling into my back. I didn't glance back to see if they actually were. I then spent the first half of breakfast diligently trying to keep my kids to "indoor voices." They were behaving very well, and if there had been any other families there at that moment, I would have been happy to let my kids keep on how they were, but I felt like I didn't dare disturb iPhone lady. It really put me on edge, and I found myself fighting tears for no good reason. I'm very stressed right now, preparing to move 500 miles north and waiting for my house to get packed up and taking care of my kids by myself. And being pregnant.

I calmed down as my coffee arrived, and the kids set to their food very nicely, and I turned around to see that iPhone lady was gone. The rest of breakfast was very pleasant and relaxed, and we left happy.

The incident made me think about the balance of "give me a break here; I'm alone with three kids" to "I'm sorry my kids are annoying you; I'll do my best to keep them quiet."

As parents, we have a job to do: We have to prepare our kids to function in society. That means teaching them manners, how to act in different arenas (home versus store versus restaurant, for example), and to be sensitive to how their actions affect others (i.e., empathy). As a result, we parents spend a lot of time trying to be tuned in to how are kids are acting and to how others around us are reacting to us. It can be exhausting. I find myself watching the faces of those around me, trying to judge whether they are charmed or irritated by my kids. I find in large part that people don't mind when my kids are just being kids, as long as they're not being destructive or unreasonably loud or exuberant. If I see an amused or nostalgic smile on the face of a grandmotherly woman, I don't try to rein my kids in as much as if I see the pursed lips and pointed looks of someone less open to "kids being kids." I try not to be too entitled. Just because I have kids and am stressed and sometimes they're hard to control doesn't mean my kids have the right to run rampant around a quiet restaurant and disturb other diners (which they weren't doing, but just for arguments' sake). I don't think I deserve special treatment because I decided to have kids, like I'm somehow unique among the women of the world.

As members of society, though, isn't it right for us to be aware that parents with kids sometimes need a little leeway? I know that for people who don't have kids, or haven't been around kids in a long time, or aren't usually around kids at all, it can be hard to understand or be forgiving of even normal kid behavior, and every noise or accidental shout of excitement can be irritating. But if you're in a family restaurant, one that regularly serves, and even caters to, parents and children, it shouldn't be overly surprising if a family comes in for a meal. And if that family is a mom alone with three young boys, it shouldn't come as too much of a shock if those boys are a little excited or hyper, and the mom looks a little exhausted. Where does that balance point fall? How much is it my responsibility to keep my kids from annoying you (yes, kicking the bench was not okay, and I stopped him as soon as I saw it), and how much is it your responsibility to realize that I also have a right to sit there and eat (my kids weren't doing anything unreasonable or unpleasant), and just because you had until then been in a quiet restaurant working quietly on whatever-it-was you were doing, doesn't mean you could expect it to remain quiet. It's a restaurant, not a library.

Frankly, if I had gotten there first (instead of having to corral the toddler), I probably would have chosen a table farther from her anyway, as, just like anywhere else, if there's room to sit farther away from people, I generally choose to do so (movie theaters, restrooms, the DMV). It wasn't that I minded moving to a farther table, it was more the sour look and the obvious annoyance at the audacity I had to bring my family to a family diner for a family breakfast. And that's all it was. There was no confrontation, no complaint, and no further incident with her. I didn't otherwise feel unwelcome, and a couple that came in after us did watch my kids with the welcome amused smile and eye twinkle that I usually associate with older people. I didn't worry that we had disturbed their meal at all.

So what balance do we need to strike? It's obviously different depending on where you are and what the demographic there is like. Behavioral expectations vary with venue for adults as much as for kids. I sometimes struggle with my need to please everyone. I don't want to annoy people or disturb their meals or interrupt their work or reading. At the same time, kids are kids and I can't always control every noise or every action. I can tell them when they're being inappropriate and work with them on it so that next time they'll know better. That's my job, and I take it seriously. I want to raise responsible, empathetic, and pleasant human beings. But can I enlist the rest of society to help me with that a little bit, and maybe give me a little bit of empathy and patience themselves when they see I'm doing the best I can?

Girl or Boy? Why Does Everyone Else Care More Than I Do?

Tomorrow, May 30, is the "big ultrasound," where we'll (hopefully) finally find out whether I'm carrying our first girl or our fourth boy. While some families choose to wait for the birth and let the baby's gender be a surprise, we've always liked to know at the major anatomical ultrasound (which is usually done between 18 and 20 weeks). I've been known to say that if peeing on the stick could not only confirm the pregnancy but tell me the gender, I'd be happy! My husband always says that it's a surprise whether you find out at the ultrasound or at the birth, and we both like having that time to talk about names and get mentally prepared for the actual baby who is coming. I find it makes the pregnancy more real to me and helps me begin to bond with the baby growing within me.

(G's ultrasound pictures)

So far, we're three for three, reliably producing adorable little boys. At each new pregnancy, friends, family, and strangers express genuine curiosity as to whether we're "hoping" for a girl, "trying" for a girl, or if we'll "keep trying" for a girl if this next one is another boy. Indeed, it seems like everyone around us is more excited and more curious than we are about the gender of this fourth baby! It's not that I don't want to know, and it's not that I'm not excited about the baby, and it's not that I will be disappointed either way. It's just that I don't understand why everyone else seems to have invested so much emotional energy in my pregnancy! It's nice that people care so much, don't get me wrong, but is it fair to the baby I'm actually carrying to hope so strongly for one gender? What if it's not what you're hoping for?

I think it's fair to suffer a fleeting moment of disappointment or grief if you never get the son or daughter you've always dreamed of having. I know people who wanted only sons, people who wanted only daughters, or people who yearned for one of each. Usually, once you're holding your sweet little one in your arms, you're thrilled with whatever you've got, but that doesn't mean you might not wonder what it would have been like if the X had been a Y, or vice versa. It is not fair to the child you have, however, to wish he was a she, or she was a he. We have to take people as they are, and that includes our children! Sure, I had "planned" to have a girl first, but when N came along, I couldn't imagine life any other way.

My husband and I are fairly certain we're having another boy. I've been consistently using "he" when talking about this baby, when before I've been hesitant to use a gender pronoun until we knew for sure. According to this site, if you have three boys, you have a slightly increased (more than 50%) chance that the fourth will also be a boy. You hear people toss out stats like, "Oh, the chances of another boy are 70% if you already have three," but this is apparently not supported in the data. Still, it does seem to me like some couples may be more predisposed to one gender than the other. Who knows? Obviously, there are plenty of families with three of one and one of the other, but then you get the stories about families with six boys and one girl, or seven girls and one boy, and so on, and it makes you wonder.

Ever since I found out my first was a boy, I've assumed that at some point in the future, I'd have a daughter. It just seems...normal. But after I found out G was a boy, I became fairly content with the whole situation. I realized I was kind of relieved. I already know how to "do" a boy. I understand them. I have the clothes and the toys. And, let's be honest, here, I'm not exactly "girly." I don't wear makeup. I don't get my nails done. I don't do my hair. I'm not a tomboy, but I'm not well versed in a lot of "feminine" activities, either. I'm terrified that if I did have a girl, she'd be "girlier" than me! I'm terrified of female puberty, of girl drama, and of body image issues. And, to be crude, as many have said only half-jokingly, when you have a boy, you have only one penis to worry about. (Okay, so I have three, and possibly four, but you get the point.)

So, I'm pretty much at peace this time. If it's another boy, which I'm willing to assume it is at this point, then I'm happy. If it's a girl, I'll be shocked but happy. I don't see us continuing to "try" for a girl. I can't predict how I'll feel about it in five years, but right now, I don't feel like I need "one of each" for a complete family. Our family will be complete because we'll have the kids we're supposed to have.

Until I'm ready to reveal the results of the ultrasound scheduled for tomorrow, go ahead and make your predictions. I'm curious as to what my readers think! If you want any data from me besides knowing that we already have three boys, assuming it's not invasive information, go ahead and ask. Have fun guessing, and we'll see what happens!

For some thoughts on the flip side of the equation, a while back Jessica at The Leaky B@@b shared her thoughts on having 5 girls when she was pregnant with her sixth, and how it feels to be asked if she wants a boy - and how it feels for her daughters!

Now, granted, N and S have both expressed their desire for a sister, although I'm not exactly sure if they're able to verbalize why they want a sister. Still, it's super cute, and I know that my boys will be awesome big brothers whether this little one is a boy or a girl.

A House Full of Boys

This is my 100th published post! Taking suggestions on how to celebrate!

Also, I'm very excited to announce that my book, The "Yes, It's Normal!" Guide to Breastfeeding is now available for purchase in paperback through Amazon for $9.99.

And now, onto the post!

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Often, when I first meet someone and introduce my three boys, the question immediately following, "How old are they?" is, "Are you going to have another?" or "Are you going to try for a girl?" I wonder why this is. Are my baby-making plans up for public discussion? Why such intense interest in what should be an intimate process between my husband and me? I mean, sure, if I were already pregnant with another, asking if I'm hoping for a girl would be understandable, but to ask if we're "planning" to have another, or "trying" to have another? One person even went so far as to offer advice on how to increase our chances of conceiving a girl!

I don't know if the fact that we have three in relatively quick succession (26 months and 32 months apart) makes people assume that we're not planning to stop at three, or if the fact that they're all boys make people assume that we had a third because we were trying for a girl, or if the fact that we're still relatively young (and I apparently look younger than I am) makes people assume that we'll just keep on letting them come until they stop on their own. We have used birth control in the past, our kids were planned (yes, all three), and we didn't keep going because we were "hoping" for a girl.

Full disclosure, until the 20-week ultrasound with each of the three pregnancies, I was sure I was having a girl, and I admit to slight disappointment at first upon finding out they were boys. Well, with GI, it wasn't so much disappointment as genuine surprise and a bit of relief. At least, by then, I knew what to do with a boy and had all the requisite clothing and gear. I do want a daughter. I've always fantasized about raising a girl. On the other hand, now that I have boys, the idea of having a girl terrifies me, because it seems like girls are way harder to raise.

Though it isn't really anyone's business, my husband and I have always talked about having four kids. Now that we have three, a fourth seems inevitable. But as for when, well, isn't that kind of a personal question? Do you need to know whether I'm using birth control or what kind? Do you need to know how often we're "doing the BD," as they say in trying-to-conceive parlance? Do you need to know if we've yet had success? I don't really think so. I promise, when and if I get pregnant, you will know about it as soon as it's appropriate to say so. Or until I can't hide it.

As for "are you going to try for a girl?", that isn't exactly fair to my boys, is it? There isn't a day that goes by that I'm not grateful to have my boys. I've never once wished that any of them was a girl. I've never tried to imagine how life would be different if we had a girl or two or three. In fact, in some ways, I feel like the fact that we've been blessed with boys is a sort of tap on the shoulder from G-d. "You are meant to mother boys," He tells me. "You will raise your sons to be men who respect women, love Judaism, and be sensitive and gentle fathers." They have their father as an excellent example of what a man should be and how a man should act. They have both of us to teach them to love Judaism and want a Jewish home when they grow up. If we end up as a house with four sons, then at least by now I know what to do with a boy. And if I've proven myself a worthy mother of boys and G-d chooses to bless us with a daughter, I will be even more grateful for her, and she will be lucky to have three older brothers to protect her. What could be better than that? And what mother could be luckier than I, that one day I could potentially have four excellent daughters-in-law, to love and cherish and to bring her beautiful grandchildren?

When confronted, then, with the questions, "Are you going to have more?" and, "Are you trying for a girl?", I really don't know what to say, except, "We'll see what happens," and "It's not up to me." Because it isn't. Not really.

War Games

I have boys. I have come to the conclusion that boys are born knowing how to make car sounds and gun noises and how to pretend to fly an airplane. My kids watch tame shows like "Dragontales" and "Arthur" (aside from "The Avengers: Earth's Mightiest Heros," which I regret introducing them to), don't play video games really, and yet they've been playing "war". It's an odd sort of war, wherein whenever they want to change or fix their Duplo guns, NJ yells, "Pause war!", they do whatever they need to do with their Duplo creations, and then NJ yells, "Unpause war!" and they go back to "shooting" with their Duplo guns and making the "Ttttttt" noise of a machine gun.

There are things about these war games that I like. One is that they are playing an imaginative(-ish) game without the need for the TV screen. Another is that they are building with Duplos, of which we have seven million, and which are safe for the baby if they're left around the living room...which they are. I'm even kind of impressed with the "guns" they build.

But I mostly really don't like these games. SB completely doesn't understand what he's doing, doesn't have a sense of what it means to "kill" someone, doesn't get that war is not something to laugh about. He's three and a half. But NJ is on this weird cusp between understanding what death is without a concept that shooting someone with a gun will kill them. He doesn't, though, understand what war really is, and I'd really like to keep them sheltered as long as possible. There are enough worries in this world that they'll have to take on eventually. Let kids be kids.

I realize that generations upon generations of boys (and girls) have played shoot-out games - Cowboys and Indians, Cops and Robbers - and that someone is always the "bad guy," and you go outside with your cap guns and run around in the backyard "shooting" each other and having a grand old time. And most of those people are not violent when they grow up (like, say, my mother). But somehow it still feels wrong to me to "play war." Maybe it's because they lack that very understanding of what the game is about. They're playing at something without knowing what they're pretending to do. It would be like pretending to cook without ever having seen someone do so, or pretending to work a cash register without having ever been to a store. It's a game without reference.

It's good that my boys haven't had to be exposed to war. I'd like them to be able to maintain that innocence. We are a country at war, but thanks to our volunteer military, my boys don't have to worry about their Daddy (or Mommy) going overseas. But some of their friends do. Somehow, playing at war feels like they wish it were something they knew more about, when I hope for them that they never have to find out. Certainly, boys are interested in fighter planes and helicopters, guns and bombs, tanks, jeeps, and the great naval ships. Heck, I'm interested in them, too. But there's a difference between an academic interest in war paraphernalia and machinery and building it out of Duplos and throwing Duplos at each other when they drop a "bomb." (Also, it hurts to get hit with a Duplo.)

What I'm beginning to understand is that as much as I try to protect my boys from the world at large, they're going to learn about it. They learn about it from other kids at the park or at school or at synagogue. They learn about it tangentially from conversations between their parents, or video games their dad plays. They learn about it at Starbucks, when they ask why we would buy a pound of coffee for "the troops." They'll learn about it if one of their friend's moms or dads is deployed and the friend mentions it. War is out there, all around us, especially living here, near the largest Marine base in the country.

This means that it's my job, rather than to protect them from knowledge, to make sure they have the correct knowledge. And that applies to more than just guns and airplanes, of course. Since they're sure to learn about the world from other people, I have to make sure that they have accurate information. So when they play their war games, I tell them to never point even a Duplo gun directly at another person. I ask that they play as allies and fight monsters or imaginary bad guys, rather than each other. If they want to learn about fighter planes, we find information on the internet or watch a documentary about flight. If they want to know more about guns, one day, we can teach them. Perhaps we can even take them to a firing range when they're old enough (there's one just a few miles from us) to teach them to respect weapons and understand their use. And if they are playing war with their friends, hey, at least they're running around and getting some exercise, and hopefully some of the lessons we've taught them will stick.