One of the weirdest things about motherhood—in my experience at least—is the way in which change seems to take forever, at the same time that it happens without me even noticing. Last week, for example, I spent about five days trying to teach my two-year-old that markers are for coloring on paper–not the dog. But at the same time, it feels like yesterday that this very same child couldn’t even talk. And today, he’s able to go on a 30-minute diatribe about how, if I had only provided the correct type of paper, he wouldn’t have had to color all the animals blue.

And I think that’s why writing has been so therapeutic for me, and so many of us “moms of the internet,” over the past few years. Because while writing is also a slow, multi-directional process—we write, then delete, then rewrite, and edit—it has a clear beginning and end. Most of us end up finishing (eventually) whatever it was that we were writing, and move on to something new, pocketing the satisfaction that comes from a completed task as we go.

But in motherhood, there’s no such thing as a completed task. The kids may be dressed, fed, listened-to and loved, but at the end of the day, there will always be some way in which I fell short. And even though my son is no longer coloring on the pets, that doesn’t mean he won’t try to do it again–or perhaps turn to the walls–a few weeks from now.

While I feel weirdly guilty admitting this in writing, the “unfinishedness” of day-to-day life as a stay-at-home-mom can be hard to power through. A lot of days, my progress feels so minuscule that I question whether it actually even happened. When I zoom out—by a month, or maybe even a year—I can see just how much we’ve done, and how much we’ve grown. But sometimes I don’t want to do that. Sometimes I just want to hold in my hand the results of my hard work, and know that something is done. And that it’s good.

So, for me at least, that’s where writing has come in. It’s not only a way for me to process the goings on in my life, but it’s also a way for me to feel the satisfaction of moving forward, and of seeing my own growth, in a tangible way. Or so I thought.  

Where’s this going? Somewhere, I promise.  

If you’ve been here for a minute, you know that I embarked on a novel-writing journey in November of this year. November is #NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), and while I’ve been considering taking the leap into fiction writing for a while now, the structure, and the deadline, that NaNoWriMo provided was crucial in encouraging me to actually bit the bullet and do it.

And I did! Over the past three months, I wrote a 110,000 word draft of a novel. I listened to about 100 podcast episodes about fiction writing, editing, querying, and the publishing landscape in general. I read several books on storytelling and craft. I re-read my draft, edited a few things, and sent some of it off to other people to read. I got feedback from those people (some of it was good, and a lot of it was “constructive”), and I came up with a plan for how I want to move forward.

And the funny thing is, that while I initially turned to writing because I craved the forward progress, and the finished result, the process of writing this novel has been the exact opposite of that. For a solid month, as I was drafting, I added words, and chapters, to the page. The manuscript, the story, and the characters, all grew into something bigger than where they had started.

And then, I went back and looked at both the story, and the feedback I got on it, and I had some hard, late-night conversations with the little written world I had become so attached to. Because some of it wasn’t good. And some of it wasn’t original. And a bunch of it would never be “marketable” in an incredibly cut-throat publishing landscape.

So, I went back to the beginning again. I reimagined my characters’ inner lives. I took my 350+ pages of story, and outlined it backwards, noting anything and everything that didn’t work. And I joined a writer’s group, so that they can help me find all the other things that don’t work—the one’s I’m too invested to see—and so that I can hopefully help someone else with their writing in return.

Next month, I plan on diving in to draft 2. I’m going to give myself some space from the story, and some time to fill in the holes in my plan, and then I’m going to get back to work. Just like our kids do, my story will also have to take a few steps backwards, before it can begin to move forwards again. And while, at first, this detour really frustrated me—writing was, after all, the thing I was supposed to be able to “finish,” I can now see it for the learning experience I’m sure the universe intended it to be for me.

Nothing is a straight line. Not parenting, or people, or even our hobbies. And while going backwards is always a bit of a bummer at first, it’s also sometimes the only way we can move forward again.

If you’re in any way interested in my fiction writing journey, and the tools that I’ve leaned on, and learned from, along the way, I plan on writing a more detailed post (possibly this weekend, if the rugrats allow), about all of the amazing resources I wish I’d known about before I started.

As always, happy reading, happy hobbying and thanks for following along on my corner of the internet!

I recently read a really lovely picture book entitled It Fell From The Sky. It’s about a group of bugs who encounter a beautiful marble that has, apparently, fallen from the heavens and intruded–in the most delightful kind of way–on their familiar patch of grass.

Yet while most of the bugs marvel at the marble, question its origins, and imagine the power it holds, the spider alone decides he needs to make it his own. So, he traps the marble in a carnival of sorts, charges the other bugs admission, and, through attempting to control it, ends up squandering the potential the marble once had to bring joy, and wonder, into the lives of everyone else.

Having a child is not exactly like having a marble fall from the sky. On the contrary, most of us go through months of physical discomfort and intense mental preparation before we’re rolled out of labor and delivery with a baby in our arms. 

But nevertheless, as soon as we enter the world together, as mother and child, people start referring to the baby as “ours.” 

And, at that stage of life, at least, they are ours. In fact, my own newborns were all so dependent on me those first few months that I almost considered them extra appendages. My current baby–my third–still spends most of the day either attached to my boobs, or strapped to my body in a baby carrier. He is mine because he can do literally nothing for himself. (Including sleep, which is a story for another day). 

But my oldest, is four, and she’s a different beast entirely. She’s emotional, and opinionated, and adores singing and ballet. She’s attached at the hip to her closest sibling, and seems to “enjoy” the baby only when other adults are around. She can be funny and charismatic, but she can also be shy and reserved, and despite the fact that all of these qualities and characteristics are uniquely her own, people still refer to her as “mine.” 

How is “your daughter?” “Your daughter” looks so much like you! Does “your daughter” like to read as much as you do?

And while such verbiage is necessary in polite society–when we don’t just want to point at kids and refer to them as “that one”–it’s also pretty emotionally loaded for the parents. 

Because when someone says, “my son isn’t sleeping,” a lot of us are quick to wonder whether the parent is perhaps doing (or not doing) something to unintentionally sabotage the routine. Or when someone expresses a concern like, “my daughter is struggling in school,” we wonder whether the parents adequately prepared said child, to both behave, and perform, in a classroom setting. 

While my four-year-old is still very much “my child,” in that she is four and still dependent on me for most things, she is also very much her own self, in a way that has nothing at all to do with me. 

As my daughter’s parent, there is a lot about her life that I can control. I can control what I feed her, and the clothes I buy her, and how often I turn the T.V. on. I can control where she goes to school, and whether I pay for ballet lessons, and what kind of bed she sleeps in. But there are even more things I can’t control, like how much she eats, or what she chooses to wear, or how she reacts when I turn the T.V. off. Or whether she likes school, or chooses to participate at ballet, or decides to sleep in her bed at night. 

And while it is certainly my job to set my kids up for success in the wider world, and to tune-in to any red-flag behaviors that might serve to remind me that something is lacking in my approach, at the end of the day, if I am able to take my ego out of the equation, and frame my kid’s successes, as well as their failures, as a reflection of their choices, instead of solely my influence, one day, they’ll be able to see themselves as the drivers of their own lives, and their own destinies, instead of a personified magic marble, trapped in mom’s metaphorical fun-house of wonders.

I also like to think of how surprised I’ll be by the things they do, and the people they become, and the ideas they inspire, and how wonderfully different those journeys will be than anything I could have planned for them myself.

And, let’s be honest, this child-as-appendage thing is hard. I’d like to send the marbles back out into the world one day, so this ringleader can have a bit of a break.

The Book

Throughout my life, I have been blessed with good friends from a variety of faith backgrounds. Over the years, many of these friends have invited me into their homes to celebrate various holidays and milestones. While I was raised Catholic myself, the open-mindedness of my own parents, combined with the overwhelmingly positive experiences I had at other peoples’ churches, temples, and seder tables (experiences in which I was always welcomed with open arms, and encouraged to engage and ask questions) were formative components of my own faith journey as an adult.

When I married my husband, who identifies as Jewish, (although not in an incredibly religious way) we decided that we would raise our kids in an “interfaith” environment (in which we celebrate pieces of both of our family’s traditions), while, at the same time, focusing on a primarily Jewish religious experience. And while I have more knowledge of, and experience with, Judaism than many one-time Catholics (I have attended many a Hanukkah celebration, and spent several months in Israel), I am, in large part, learning, crafting traditions, and experiencing Judaism for the first time, alongside my children: a journey which, for me at least, has been profoundly transformative.

Currently, my children are four, two, and four months old. And while my husband and I have celebrated Rosh Hashanah and the High Holy Days several times with my oldest, we have yet to really nail down the traditions and rituals that are most important to us, and that we hope to rely on as touch points of reflection and growth throughout the rest of our children’s lives.

This year, my daughter is just old enough to start understanding some of the deeper meanings behind many of the most common Rosh Hashanah rituals and traditions. So, it seems like as good a time as any to really start making a concerted effort to instate our own versions of these traditions at home. And, in order to hold myself accountable, while also, hopefully, providing a resource of sorts for other “newly Jewish” families out there, I’m going to share a few of those ideas here with you as well.

While I plan on including a wide variety of ideas in this post, I am a firm believer in the “less is more” mentality when it comes to creating and maintaining traditions. With three kids, and no other family close by, I don’t have a ton of time to prepare, or organize, complicated activities and meals, and I want the traditions we do end up choosing for our family to continue to be a positive addition to family life for years to come, instead of an added stressor, or source of resentment.

So, like I hope you do, I plan on taking from this what will work best for us, and leaving the rest for another family to enjoy. Because, like most things, celebrating the holidays should be more about doing what’s right for us, than feeling like you have to do it all.

What is Rosh Hashanah

So first, let’s start with what Rosh Hashanah actually is. Because, to be honest, I celebrated this holiday for about two years before I actually took the time to figure it out…

In short, Rosh Hashanah is the Jewish New Near, and the beginning of what many Jewish people refer to as the “High Holy Days”–10 days of reflection and celebration which end with Yom Kippur, the day of atonement. Rosh Hashanah is a somewhat somber holiday, in that it requires those who celebrate to reflect on the mistakes they may have made in the past year, but it is also celebratory in that it allows us to atone, and begin the new year with a “clean slate.”

Since the Jewish calendar is lunisolar (meaning it correlates with the cycle of the moon, with an extra month tacked on the end), these holidays fall on different days every year, but always during the same season (in this case, the early fall).

I love Rosh Hashanah for a lot of reasons, not the least of which is that it usually involves adorable little kids enthusiastically blowing pretend shofars in each other’s faces. I love the honey cake, the big family dinner, and the communal nature of it all. But, most importantly, I love that this holiday in particular provides me with an opportunity to practice, with my kids, the art of letting things go. (I also love any excuse to whip out this pretend shabbat set…)

On Rosh Hashanah, we learn to name our sins, and face them head-on, at the same time that we allow ourselves to be forgiven, and embrace the opportunity to try again. The fact that this holiday usually falls at the beginning of the school year is also such a blessing, as it serves as a reminder to my kids (and myself) that every year (and every day, really) is an opportunity for growth and change, and that the fears, mistakes, or wonderings of the previous year do not have to define the new one.

Rosh Hahsana Traditions For Kids

This year, my family will be celebrating the holiday with a children’s service in the park. Many synagogues across the country host similar celebrations, and if you are interested in celebrating with kids, I highly recommend contacting your local synagogue or Jewish Community Center for more information.

At home, we plan on baking, crafting and reflecting in a variety of other, kid-friendly ways. I’ll be sharing a few of our traditions with you here, but remember, whatever feels meaningful to you, is probably the best place to start.

Apple (and/or Honey) Tasting

Apples and honey are considered an important part of the traditional Rosh Hashanah meal, as they symbolize the hope for a “sweet” new year ahead. Thankfully, both apples and honey are two of the few foods my young children always agree on, so they’re easy to incorporate into our celebration.

This activity in particular is one my daughter’s preschool teacher did in class last year and, as a lover of apples myself, I found very entertaining.

First, my kids and I went to the grocery store and chose three different types of apples. You can choose a wider variety if you’d like, but my kids are young and I wasn’t sure they could keep track of more than three.

At home, I put the different apples on display and asked my kids to “use their senses” to make predictions about which they would like the best. My kids touched, smelled, and squeezed the apples, and then ranked them on a very un-fancy homemade worksheet.

Then, I sliced the apples, and cut off the skin, so as to disguise which was which. You could also blindfold kids, or put the slices in paper bags if you have some handy.

Once the apples were disguised, the kids tasted them, and made a final ranking of which they actually liked the best. We then revealed which type of apple each slice was, and the kids had a good time laughing about how wrong their predictions had been.

You could also do this activity using different flavors of honey sticks, which I plan on trying later next week.

Washing Away “Sins” – Bathtub Edition

Another important Rosh Hashanah tradition is called Tashlich, which is basically the “casting off” of the sins of the previous year. People celebrate this tradition in a variety of ways, the most common of which is to throw breadcrumbs (symbolic of one’s sins) into a body of water (which represents the purifying source).

The synagogue we attend actually discourages this practice (as it has led to some trouble for the local duck population in the past), so we’ve gotten creative with our own, kid-friendly version of Tashlich at home.

One method a friend of mine has used is to purchase dissolvable paper, such as this kind, for kids to write their “sins” on. Kids would then throw the dissolvable paper into the bathtub, sink, or other body of water, and watch as their “sins” are washed away. While I like this idea, I do think it would work better for older kids who are able to do some deeper reflection and write independently.

We plan on doing our Tashlich in the bathtub this year, by using washable bath crayons. With the crayons, the kids will write (or draw) their “sins,” (or, as we’ll be phrasing it, “mistakes”) of the previous year on the walls of the tub. After talking about what we’ve learned from these experiences, we’ll use the warm water to wash our mistakes away, and start fresh in the new year.

We might also do a second activity in which we make color-coded ice cubes, each representing an action or emotion we had in the past year that we want to have, or do, less of next year. We can then take the ice cubes with us to bath time, and watch as our negative feelings and behaviors melt away.

Make Your Own Shofar

During the High Holy Days, The Shofar (a ram’s horn carved into an instrument of sorts) is blown every day except on Shabbat. It is meant to represent the call to reflection, and serves as encouragement to look inward and repent.

While you can buy tiny kid-friendly shofars in a variety of places, they are also pretty easy to make. In the past, we have made some by purchasing toy kazoos, and wrapping them in cones made of construction paper. But however you do it, you may want to take this experience to the park, or, better yet, a sound-proof room.

Balloon Confetti Canon

While confetti is not a traditional component of the Jewish New Year, it’s a fun one nonetheless. This activity was so simple, and afforded us hours of fun this week.

First, collect a few empty toilet paper rolls – the sturdier the better. Then, take an empty balloon and tie it off at the end. Cut the top 1/4 off of the balloon, and stretch the cut opening around one end of the toilet paper roll. Use duct tape to securely attach the balloon to the roll. Fill the open end of the toilet paper roll with confetti, flower petals, grass, or, if you’re really daring, glitter. Point the open end of the roll in the desired direction, pull on the tied end of the balloon and release to shoot!

Mazel Tov!

Easy Challah Recipe

Making bread with my children has never sounded like a super appealing activity to me. While I love a good banana bread, or muffin-making session, making actual bread has always seemed like far too precise an endeavor to take on by myself–let alone with a toddler in tow.

However, this year, I put on my big girl apron and set out to make it happen, with the simplest challah recipe on the internet as my guide. To be totally honest, there were several points along the way when I thought I had messed it up, and that I would be feeding flat, burnt bread to the local squirrels for weeks to come. However, when I pulled these loaves out of the oven just before dinner I (and everyone else in my family) what shocked to find that actual, edible bread had been produced. AND it was delicious.

While I ended up doing much of the kneading (it’s shockingly hard work), my four-year-old daughter helped me with everything else, from dissolving the yeast, to braiding the loaves. We especially loved checking on the dough while it rose in our cupboard, and it was really fulfilling (and filling…) to learn this new skill together.

The recipe I chose to use came from Kveller, which is an amazing online publication for Jewish (and Jew-ish) parents. Even if you don’t make the bread, I highly recommend checking them out.

Rosh Hashana Traditions for Parents

While many parents view holidays as important opportunities to ground children in formative rituals and traditions, these milestones also present parents themselves with valuable opportunities to reflect, re-center, and re-connect. Below, I have included one tradition that my husband and I plan on engaging in during this season, so that we, too, can benefit from this simultaneously reflective, and forward-thinking, moment.

State of the Union

The “State of the Union,” is something that I learned about in a mommy-and-me class this past year, and, while it should really take place at least once per month, the symbolic nature of Rosh Hashanah lends itself well to this particular exercise.

Basically, the premise of the State of the Union is that both parents carve out time, away from kids, to have an hour-long conversation about the state of their marriage and/or partnership. While this might sound a bit alarming, the conversation shouldn’t be wholly critical. Instead, both partners should come to the table with specific examples of things they have appreciated about the other person over the past year, as well as a few pieces of constructive feedback. From my own experience, I recommend starting with the positives, before tip-toeing into “growth” territory.

If possible, it’s fun to have this conversation over dinner, or drinks, or a tub of ice cream if you can’t make it out of the house. In my experience, I have found that scheduling this kind of conversation, or saving it for a “ritualistic” time, infuses it with more positivity and thoughtfulness, and leads to a more productive, and empowering conversation.

Shanah Tovah

However you choose to celebrate this year, I hope you have a wonderful new year full of family, food, and as many crafts as your heart desires! Shanah Tovah!