Mommyblogging

So, the Balabusta is now a yiddishe mama. I have a daughter.

OK, I realize it's been an age, and this blog more or less fell by the wayside, and I never even told the blogosphere I was expecting.

It's been a long crazy ride. But the Baby Balabusta is now eleven weeks old, and I'm back to work, and considering the possibilities of Jewish mommyblogging.

Stay tuned for the adventures of a working mom, an at-home dad and a baby, as we learn the ropes of being an interfaith, eclectic, Bay Area family of three.

Sixth Grade Is Hard. And I'm In Mourning.

OK. My mother-in-law died today, I found out after school, so this is a day that will live in memory, but before that...

My sixth graders, who I have for English, religion and social studies, are in revolt. I started using the vocabulary book that was given to me by the school, which is rigorous but good.

They can't pass the tests. They do lousy on them. After the third one with too many Fs and no As, I decided, OK, we have to adapt. So I told them, and read them a note saying, that we would keep using the book, but we would do a unit over two weeks instead of one, taking the spelling test one week and the vocabulary the next. We would make flashcards, do word studies, more in-depth stuff. I just came from high school, where even my freshmen would look at a list, sort of shrug, and learn it. So, I tell the kids, we'll do it slow, with more care and more activities, and they WILL get better grades, and they WILL learn more.

And they exploded. Some of what came out of our impromptu class meeting:

There is not enough homework. And the homework is too hard.
Can't we go on doing a vocabulary test every week?
It's my fault for not teaching it right.
I don't make learning fun.
Ms. Fifth Grade gave them donuts for getting As on spelling tests. They need motivation. How come no donuts?
I take too long to give directions.
I don't take long enough giving directions.
They don't like the kid they're sitting next to.
If I gave examples, like about money, or fashion, they'd learn.

Then, they complained that it was the way I grade that made them get bad grades. I take off TWO points for every thing they get wrong. If I only took off one point, they'd get good grades!

I showed them the percentages on the board, and explained that I give two points for each correct answer as well, so this is having no impact on their overall grade.

A couple of them came in to talk after school as well. They're mad at the math teacher too, because he says the highest grade in the group is a C-plus, and if he gave them more time, they'd get better grades, also he canceled the test because the people who weren't ready asked for more time. And everyone is saying that they're going to have bad grades at the progress reports, and they're MAD!!!

I tried to treat their concerns with respect, and a little humor. I felt like running away and never coming back.

And then after this, while I'm brainstorming tech projects with the computer guy, my husband walks in, and I know as soon as I see his face that Tante S. is gone.

I'll feel better after I eat a lot of carbs and get a good night's sleep, and cry some more. But DAMN.

And the grief, the real grief, hasn't quite gotten through yet. And my heart is breaking for my husband, and I don't know what in God's name I can do for him.

Summer in Swing--Louisiana Saturday Night

I am finally starting to relax after the Husband and I got back a week ago from visiting his family in Louisiana.

I merely note:

1.The humidity is amazing. I got out of the car at 10 at night, and my glasses fogged over.

2. My husband comes by his hoarding tendencies honestly. He and his mother are limited in what they can do by space constraints. My grandmother-in-law has eleven acres. Enough said.

3. My new niece (age four months) is completely adorable.

4. My older niece (age 12) is also pretty cute.

5.My sister-in-law is a brave woman. She drove from Tennessee to Louisiana with a four-month-old, a twelve-year-old, a German shepherd and beagle in the car.

6. After I teased my husband on the flight about how anyone I spend enough time with turns out to be Jewish, my grandfather-in-law informed me on the first morning we were there that the Cherokee are a Lost Tribe.

7. I learned about deer whistles.

8. If I never see another biscuit, it will be too soon.

9.My MIL has adopted a baby woodpecker.

10. Family. Just...family.

Back To Work Tomorrow

It's been a great vacation, but I almost feel as though I could use another one. Today is rainy, rainy rainy, and I'm sitting here doing the grading I managed to put off for a week and a half.

I'm stressed. You know? I'm just stressed. My father, thank God, is recovering nicely from his health problems, but by mother-in-law's cancer has recurred. I'm job hunting again. My husband has a terrible toothache, and needs to have a tooth pulled. My husband is still unemployed. I feel out of control. There is too much going on, no money, and not enough down time.

But I did finally get some down time, and I'm going to go back to school tomorrow with a vengeance, finish up the year, and find a job where they give me my own classroom. I have an offer of an interview, and some possibilities, and I'm just going to get through all of this.

Disgruntled Hillary Supporter Here

In November, 2008, God willing, I will cast one of the most important votes of my life, for freedom to marry to remain a right of all Californians.

Unfortunately, we're also voting on some other stuff come November, and I don't have nearly the sense of purpose about those that I have about voting against Prop. 8. You see, I am a Disgruntled Hillary Supporter. And I'm giving Barack Obama the doubtful fish-eye, trying to figure out if I'll have endless buyer's regret if I pull the lever on his behalf.

Please understand, this is sort of a big deal. I'm a Democrat, and a daughter and granddaughter of Democrats. At my grandfather's military funeral, my grandmother was annoyed because the young officer who presented her with the folded flag gave it to her on behalf of the President of the United States and a grateful nation. Why, she wanted to know (later), did Mr. Bush have to be invoked? We decided, after some thought, that the president the young man was referring to was actually FDR, under whose command-in-chief my grandpa actually served--or possibly Josiah Bartlet.

I have voted without pain for the guy with the Democratic nomination in each presidential election since I was eighteen. I loved Bill Clinton--I will always love Bill Clinton--but Gore never interested me that much, and I would have taken Edwards over Kerry, although Kerry seemed like a perfectly fine candidate. But I never wasted a moment's thought on the decision. The Democrats pick a guy, and you vote for the guy. End of story. But Barack Obama makes me twitchy and irritable.

Now, I never thought we would get to this point. In fact, I recall, year before last, catching a ride to BART with Mirele the Coworker, and laughing with her over the idea that either a woman (Hillary in particular) OR a black man was going to get the Democratic nod this time around. At the height of the nomination campaign, I recalled that conversation with wonder. How fast times change.

I'm not totally sure why I've taken so completely against Obama. Hillary is part of it, but I'm fairly sure that just about any Democratic governor out there could have kicked her behind in the primary and I would have cussed for a bit and then voted for him/her without pain. I don't think he's secretly a Marxist, or a jihadi, or a cocaine addict, (as a remarkable number of people at LGF do). I think he's inexperienced, full of himself for no apparent reason, and kind of blahhh.

I cannot vote for John McCain. I suppose I WILL vote for Obama, but he annoys me so very much.

Perhaps I need to redefine myself. Instead of being a disgruntled Hillary supporter, I can be a begrudging Obama voter. Or something.

Is anyone else having this problem?

I Love Lucy Saves The World

I mentioned going to Southern California to see my grandmother a couple of months ago. Since then, she relocated to a Catholic assisted living/nursing facility, where she became the roommate of a hundred-year-old Irish nun who, quite properly, restored the "Mary" to my grandmother's name (she hasn't used the "Mary" regularly since she was at school being taught by Irish nuns herself, seventy years ago and more.)

My grandmother is a tough lady, with a will of steel. Since moving into "Bethlehem House", she has claimed to be a vegetarian (she's not, but they stopped trying to make her eat the chicken broth), tried to bail out of her wheelchair to go exploring...oh, you name it, she's made life a little more interesting for them. Mr. Bluejeans made friends with the nurses in his broken Russian.

He got a call yesterday that she's not doing well, and that he should go down now. So that's where he is. We're now at the point where we're talking openly about funeral plans (we should only be made to look like fools for this), and the sacrament one of my students once called 'annoying of the sick' has been given.

I am sad. I'm worried about my father and his sister. My grandmother is apparently being made as comfortable as she can be, they have someone holding her hand and talking to her. She is being taken care of in this world, and she will be taken care of in the next. The rest of us I don't know about.

And I come home to find my wedding invitations have been delivered.

I wish I could express the full scope and humor and grace of my grandmother on this blog. She should have a movie about her in which Lucille Ball plays a sort of Zorro-esque character who travels the world in a motor home, finding the oppressed and standing up for them. I got lucky in grandmothers. So incredibly lucky.

Wedding Progress

A few notes. These are a touch out of date, but I thought I'd post them anyhow...

1. It is an interesting challenge to incorporate an Irish theme into a Jewish wedding. I am considering,after this experience, opening a Cafepress storecalled JudeoCeltia. I have found a pretty chuppah in a knotwork pattern on one site, and have sent the picture on to Groomra for consideration.

2. I'm trying to start to work on the wedding itself. What about the God language? “Is Groomra going to ‘now kiss the bride’”, asks my mother, “or will you be frum?”Do we use any of the language from the Book of CommonPrayer? To have and to hold? In sickness and in health? Love, honor and cherish? I do? (Groomra ’s call. If it’s significant to him...)

3. “Have you considered,” asks my ever-prepared mother, “what you’ll do if Rabbi Bruriah (the new nom de guerre of our officiant) can’t make it to the wedding? God forbid it should be an emergency, butwhat if Rabbi Bruriah gets a flat tire on the morningof the wedding and can’t make it? What if the bridge is closed?” I also need to check with Rabbi Bruriah as regards our ketubah. To some degree, this is a real formality,since the wedding has absolutely no halachic significance. Some of the headaches caused by feminism, feuding texts, concerns about a possible future get, etc., are totally bypassed by marrying a gentile. This frees me up to worry about things like finding a printer that will do both Hebrew and knotwork, and what we will do if the rabbi gets trapped in an elevator.

4. The issue of what the mothers will wear at the wedding is going to be an interesting one. Groomra’smother called to ask what she should wear. “Wear whatever you like,” I answered. I’m not dressing my bridesmaids in matching pastel outfits, and I’m sure not going to dictate to my future mother-in-law what she should wear. I’ve been amazed by the venom that gets spilled in the brides-online world about thewhole issue of who wears what, and who pays for the outfits...aaagh. Not going there.

So: “Wear whatever you want,” I say. “Don’t tell me that!” says Ima shel Grooma. All right, this is a rather casual lady, and I guess“whatever you want” would be sweats, which would be OKby me, but she sounds doubtful, so I reassess.“Wear whatever Tante shel Groomra tells you to,” I say, referring to her partner, and Groomra’s other mom, a more conservative individual, with a greater sense of conventional propriety. So that’s taken care of--I hope they don’t get the idea they need to put ISG into pantyhose or something, but it’s up to them, or rather, to TSG.

We also need to get something for my mother to wear, and this is a closer-to-home headache. Mrs. Bluejeans does not like to shop. Mrs. Bluejeans REALLY does notlike to shop. The prospect of choosing amother-of-the-bride outfit is already affecting her,and we have several months to go. God willing, one ofthe couple of clothing stores she likes will produce an elegant ensemble in purple in the next couple of months and we’ll be done.

5. My father, who likes to shop, is carefully planning his clothes. He is also reading up on the duties of the father of the bride, which I think have mostly traditionally been to pay for everything--and apparently staying sober is also considered important.He is also now the self-appointed attache on shul security matters to the Bluejeans-Fella wedding.

In addition, I now have another lead on a wedding dress, have been turned down by two caterers and am making contact with another, and, oh, every bloody thing. Wish me well.

Dancing At My Wedding

I was bat mitzvah in 1986, and my grandparents--both my grandmothers and my grandpa--came to the ceremony and the party, and they were all in their sixties, and they drove themselves, and they danced. My Catholic grandma accidentally genuflected while she was getting into her seat. (This embarassed her no end, as she was convinced the rabbi would be mortally offended, but the faux pas, if faux pas it was, was wiped out a second later, as my Aunt Yocheved announced at top volume "My! What a YOUNG rabbi!")

Twenty years later, we're going back for my wedding, and my grandparents aren't in their sixties any more. (I guess I thought they'd be spry and salt-and-pepper forever.) My grandpa died three years ago. My mother's mother suffered a stroke not long after that, and is in a long, slow recovery, thank God. My father's mother is fragile, and had been increasingly suffering from dementia.

Late last week we got a series of calls that seemed to indicate that things were really wrong with my dad's mother. She called in hysterics saying that my aunt and uncle, who she lives with, had kidnapped her, and asking my father to send the San Francisco PD to save her. (They live in San Diego. In the background of her SOS call, the kidnappers could be heard offering cardigans, and asking if she wanted to sit down somewhere more comfortable with the phone). Shortly after, we got news that her doctor has found a number of almost-certainly-cancerous growths in several places, and that the dementia was kicking up. My aunt told us that if we wanted to see her, we had better come quickly.

My father and I took off, and spent the weekend and most of Monday in San Diego. We're going to go back over Mother's Day weekend.

I'm really glad that we went. She actually was doing better by the time we got there, and we talked for quite a long time. She's frail, tiny--she's never liked to eat, and has always been slight, and now she's like a little bird. Ankles I could put my fist around. And her short-term memory is shot, and her long-term memory fades in and out randomly, and sometimes when we're talking I'm me, and sometimes I'm my mother, and sometimes I'm a total stranger and she looks confused when people call me by my name, because it was also her mother's name. But her sense of herself is still strong, and her unmistakable personality is intact. And I'm dealing.

"We can't plan as far ahead as August," my uncle told me. "We're living day to day right now." "Look," I told him. "If she's well enough to travel in August, and wants to come, it will be a huge blessing, and if not, we'll still be all right." And I told my aunt on the other side of the family something similar when I wrote about the wedding. My mother's mother is going in for cataract surgery and is still fragile. I don't know if travel is in the cards. But I'm dealing. My three grandparents between them have given me so much. I would love for them to dance at my wedding, or at least be there. (And typing this is making me cry.) But we'll have to see, and I will have them all in my heart, (and the grandmas on the phone), if that's what we can manage.