glenrockschwartz

It has been a weird week.  Alex has been misbehaving at school.  He's misunderstood - I'm not really angry with his behavior, more angry that he doesn't yet know how to work the system and be smart enough to know what people need.  In addition, we've been all sorts of busy with activities and work and life.  And I am just so exhausted by it all.  As sad and tired as I've been feeling, when I stop to reflect I think: If I didn't have these down times in my life, how would I ever appreciate the good?  And there is A LOT of good in this life, I know it.  I am beyond fortunate. And even these down times can't nearly compare to the hardship and sickness that friends and relatives have endured.  Again, beyond fortunate. And even in the bad times, my life is filled with great love. So I can let the exhaustion wash over me.  It's good to appreciate what I have. It's good to be tired and have to stop all the running.

Today is mother's day.  I called my mom this morning to wish her well and in the midst of our conversation, I realized that all that I love about myself as a mother I patterned after what I learned from my own mom.  All that I am not as pleased about, all my crazy, that's all me (and all my mom's crazy, that's all her). Today is mother's day.  I have done three loads of laundry, shopped at two supermarkets, cleaned up from my breakfast in bed and from the spice rub for this afternoon's barbecue that left a mess on the counter.  This is the unsung work of mothers.  We who work full time, but also manage to schedule play dates and orthodontist appointments and to get the camp medical forms in on time.  We who regularly make sure our children are clean and fed and smiling.  And while unsung may sound like under-appreciated and it certainly feels like that in the worst of moments, it's not really that way.  The thank yous may not occur after each an...

Dear Avery, Today you are seven years old and what is really unbelievable to me is that sometimes you act just like you are seventeen years and other times it's more like you are seven months.  Then again, I am not exactly sure what seven is supposed to be.  But in any case, I am glad that you both have the desire to grow up and can still act like my tiny, snuggly baby girl sometimes. Last year when you turned six, I wrote about your determination to play with your friends, your intense joie de vivre.  That intensity remains core to who you are, it will be something that makes you stand out wherever you go in life. This year I wanted to spend some time writing about the minutia of that intensity; how it manifests to be what I already know makes you truly amazing.  But let me preface those thoughts with this - I've been thinking a lot lately about what makes a person successful and how it isn't defined by academic success (or later in life, financial success), b...

Dear Alex, Today you are eleven years old.  Today I am eleven years a mother.  Today we are eleven years a family.  I don't know if I've ever thanked you for it, but I should because being a mother is the thing that I love most.  It's the best thing I've ever gotten to do. A rough hewn block of stone But enough about me, this is supposed to be about you.  About the person that you continue to become.  The famous sculptor, Michelangelo (of David statue fame) said "Every block of stone has a statue inside it and it is the task of the sculptor to discover it."  I think about this a lot when I think of who you are becoming, because every part of who you will be is already inside of you.  With each pass of the sculptor's tools what I already know about you becomes just a bit more defined. Empathy and kindness Ever since you have been little you have questioned me "What's my talent?"  You want to know the physical things like are you an aca...

Spiech, Lisa   < spiechl@glenrocknj.org > May 21 to  me Hi Mrs. Schwartz, Today I announced a States research project that we would be working on through the end of the year.   Both fourth grade classes will be researching one of our states and writing an informational piece based on the research.  The 50 states are being divided between the two fourth grade classes.  I explained to the class that I was going to randomly pull their name stick and then they could come and pull a state name out of a cup.  I explained that they might not get a state they want, but they could certainly research a state they were interested in on their own. When Alex picked from the cup he got Delaware and was very disappointed.  He went back to his seat and cried.  He cried for about a half an hour.  I told him he could go down to the health office until he felt better, but he said he would be fine.  I just ...

Dear Alex, Tomorrow marks the one-week anniversary of your having left for sleep away camp for the very first time.  When you left I didn't cry.  I'm generally stoic like that, so it wasn't so surprising.   I did however walk around for a few days with a funny feeling in my stomach because I didn't know what every minute of every day is like for you at Indian Head. The only way I could even glimpse into knowing was to scour the photo website for smiling pictures of you.  Pictures of you doing fun things.  Pictures of you with other campers with your arms slung around each other because you were the best of friends. Of course, I recognize that this is unrealistic.  Nobody becomes best friends overnight.  It takes time and "bonding" experiences for that to happen.  Intellectualizing didn't help the pit in my stomach.  In fact, it made it worse when I stopped to think about how you might be doing at any given moment.  You, my emotiona...

Dear Alex, For the first time in the ten plus years that you have been a part of my life I have absolutely no idea what you are doing right now, how you are feeling, what it looks like where you are.  That is because today you got onto a bus without looking back and left for your first summer at Indian Head sleep away camp. Since 11 a.m. when the bus left, I have been wandering around in a bit of a fog.  Excedrin took away my stress headache, but there is still this weird feeling in my stomach which I know will stay for the entirety of the summer.  I am hoping that the feeling will ease up a bit once I know that you have made a friend and are happy.  That wont be for a few days; it's just crazy to be feeling like this. For posterity, I want you to know that your sister cried the entire car ride home from the bus.  She was inconsolable - that you didn't hug her goodbye, that you said you weren't going to miss her and probably that she was having intense fee...