Several years ago, I started reading a blog called Reflections of a Rabbi’s Wife. It was eerie how often I agreed with her, despite our day to day differences. And I loved her sense of humor, her practical ways, and more. She’d read this blog and comment. I’d read hers. We became…friends.

We even (drumroll, please) started emailing each other.

And then, she decided to stop being anonymous and she told the world who she was.

Leah.

Now, she writes (among others) The Rebbetzin Rocks.

And while I have felt we were friends for some time now, we’d never met.

But today, we did.

What a day!

The kids played outside. We made pizza on the grill. We laughed and took pix (these were good. the others? not so much!). It was like we just met and like we’ve always known each other.

In other words, a perfect day.

Does Andrew make a great Laverne, or what?

We had a blast at the party last night even though we lost The Newlywed Game big time. Well, I guess that’s no surprise. I didn’t even know my beloved liked to cross-dress so what the heck do I know?

I did learn that Four Roses bourbon is really smooth.

And I learned that everyone likes pigs-in-blankets.

And I learned (okay, I was reminded) that a night out with good friends sure can turn the week around.

And I was also reminded that I prefer my hub with facial hair. (He had to shave to make the costume work.)

On his list today? Grow it back.

Basketball.

Here we go again! It’s the first week of practice and, I have to say, I’m kind of excited about it.

I love the echo of the bouncing balls at practice. I love seeing my guys play and improve.

But today, what is most exciting is looking at this group of boys and seeing that Reed is the tallest kid.

His odds were iffy. My dad is not tall. I’m average. But Andrew and his dad are 6′ and 6′2″ respectively. And my grandfather was also over 6′.

There are good basketball players who aren’t tall, but it doesn’t hurt.

As I sit here and watch, I see these boys – at their first practice, with new kids – working their butts off. They are sweaty and their faces are red.

I can only imagine the smell that will linger as we drive home after they finish playing.

But it’s worth it.

I have three happy boys.

Well, most of the time, that is.

Each manages his school work, schedule, and responsibilities. Of course, we’re here to help, but we rarely get asked. In fact, just yesterday a friend asked me what my eldest was doing in math class and I sheepishly answered, “I don’t know.” (He is finishing the quarter with an A, though.) At any rate,

I am not a micro-manager.

I think my job is to teach my guys to handle their workload, manage their time, have fun, be part of the community, and to be a vital, integral part of the family. And by all accounts, I was doing quite well.

Until.

Two nights ago, one son cried himself to sleep after procrastinating on a long-term project. He finished it, but couldn’t get to his English homework. I hugged him and loved him and let him cry. The next morning, he woke himself up an hour early and finished his English homework. And he left for school singing.

It wasn’t easy, but I knew I’d done right by him.

Fast forward to right this minute.

A different son is sitting at the computer crying. Crying might be an exaggeration. Whimpering might be a better word. Yeah, that’s it. Whimpering.

He had 30 profiles to do for science. He was given the assignment weeks ago. He rushed home the day it was assigned and did five. Or ten. Not sure. But still lots more to do.

Every nice afternoon, he make the conscious decision to put it off. I (kindly) suggested that he do several a day because those things can pile up and bite you in the… (I did NOT say that. But thought it for sure.)

So today. He had his snack. Did his math homework. And then realized that the 22 profiles that were not complete are due on Monday. And tonight is the last school night in that equation. (There’s no school on Friday due to the end of the marking period.) So if it’s not finished tonight, he has to do it on a “weekend” night.

Well, that just plain sucks.

But you know what? That’s how it is. And though I want to hug him up and tell him that I’ll help him, I won’t.

He got himself into this *knowingly* and he’ll get out of it.

But I’m not saying it’s easy. It’s not.

I just hope that this truly is a learning opportunity for him. I sure don’t want to do this again.

Moody evening sky by witten

Night sky coming in
Cold and sad and very dark
Blends in with my mood

I’ve been reading a lot about the plight of farmers lately.

Prices are lower and the demands are greater.

It ain’t easy.

I guess it never was, really. They get up early. Work hard all day. Physical work.

Maybe some time with the family or neighbors. And then rest until it’s time to start again.

Moms. Some work outside the home, some don’t. Either way, the demands are great and the rewards are sporadic.

I mean, some days the sloppy kisses and amazing hugs wash away the physical and mental exhaustion. And some days, there’s no immediate reward. Some days, you know that you’re just tending your crops and soon, very soon, they’ll give you back something to make it all seem worth it.

String beans. Lettuce, tomatoes, lima beans, milk.

Or a scribbled piece of paper with a picture of you and a heart in purple, green and black crayon.

Sure, the love is always there. Just as the knowledge that the crops and animals that the farmer tends are sure to respond to your tending and care. It’s the cycle. The circle. The way it is.

And knowing you’re raising great kids should be reward enough.

And it usually is.

But sometimes, you’re so tired. So bone tired that it is hard to remember.

Yes, I fold laundry in between trick-or-treaters. And yes, I get up at 5:30 to get dinner started in the crockpot.

But it’s all worth it.

Every fucking exhausting, hopeful, frustrating, amazing minute.

And just like the farmer, I know my work will pay off. My guys are going to be amazing.

They already are.

I came across this looking for something else but got all excited. I had one of these! Mine was yellow. It was the bomb.

It’s no secret that I’m not a Halloween lover.

The other day, I posted a cutie-pic photo of my boys as killer bees. It reminded me what I do like about the holiday.

Taking pictures.

So, without further ado….

Have fun tonight. (If you like that sort of thing.)

My sister had a Dancerina doll.

She loved that doll. And she let me play with it whenever I wanted.

She was very nice like that.

I acted like I didn’t care about the ballet doll. I mean, how juvenile.

But when she wasn’t home, I’d take it out of the closet (why did she keep it in the closet? Hmmm. Can’t remember) anyway, when she wasn’t home, I’d take it out and play with it. I’d watch it spin around and around.

We’re all grown up now. And I realize this was one of those things that we did have in common despite our age difference (which seemed much greater then) and I didn’t take advantage of it. I wish I’d spent more time being nice to her. She was always nice to me.

Last night at dinner my guys were picking on each other. Well two of them at least. It was normal sibling stuff. But it made me sad, remembering that I wasn’t the big sister that I wish I had been when I was young. I hope that when they grow up, my boys look back and know that they were the brothers they’d hope they had been.

As many of you know, I hate Halloween.

But, looking at this picture from 2001, I can’t help but smile.