14 women give us a look at the balls they’re keeping in the air — and the ones they’re letting go of for now

We’re all juggling… too much?
There’s no way to do it all, we tell each other.
And so we drop balls. Sometimes it’s deliberate. Other times, they slip out of our hands as we grasp at them.
Here, 14 women give us a look at the balls they’re keeping in the air — and the ones they’re letting go of for now

The Good Fight

By Esther Ross

T

wo of my sons — let’s call them Berel and Shmerel, because, y’know, shidduchim — can’t be in the same room at the same time.

Or in the same three-block radius.

These boys, who are numbers five and six of eight in our house, are very close in age, very different in temperament, and have very different strengths and weaknesses. My only other two children who are this close in age are the closest of friends, so Hubby and I were unprepared for this dynamic in our home.

Alas, the Good L-rd ensures that parents don’t get bored, so He creates children like Berel and Shmerel, who keep the house on wheels.

I believe we’ve tried everything, and by everything, I mean… Everything. Conventional parenting techniques. Unconventional parenting techniques. Rewards (bribes?), punishments, systems, psychology books, mussar books, speeches, begging, ignoring, you name it. These kids were literally wreaking havoc on our otherwise (reasonably) peaceful home and I decided that desperate times called for desperate measures. I contacted a popular social skills therapist in our community, made an appointment, and explained the situation: Here are two kids, ages 10 and 11, who seem to have no other social difficulties. They have friends in school, friends at home, they can sit at the same Shabbos table as their other siblings. So Whatintheworldisgoingonwhycan’ttheygettheiracttogetherhelpmehelpmehelpme!!!!!

Mrs. LMSW was willing to take both boys on separately. I rearranged my work schedule to be able to fit these appointments in (picking Berel up from school, driving 20 minutes to her office, finding something to do during the 40 minutes he was there, picking him up, driving him back to school, and then the same thing all over again for Shmerel), but this was survival. This needed to work before my brain imploded from One. More. Fight.

Every week they had “homework.” They learned triggers. They learned zones. They learned cute acronyms and metaphors, learned how to read expressions, ohhhhh, they learned so, so many wonderful things! They learned how to politely tell a neighbor they weren’t in the mood to play, they learned to determine if they were triggering or feeling triggered by an older sister.

And they were still at each other’s throats. They would not, could not, did not put any of their (14 karat gold) skills into practice with each other.

And one fine day, this Mommy decided that she had had enough. I was so done being stuck in the middle, refereeing, coaching, playing firefighter, reminding, calling out acronyms, distracting, blah, blah blaaaaaah!!! It was enough. By now they were 11 and 12, and I sat them down and explained sweetly that I had done everything I could to help them, but the one thing I could not give them was seichel. I did mine, now they were on their own. They wanted to keep fighting? Their problem. They were old enough to figure this out.

If you’re waiting to hear that the fighting stopped the moment I bowed out, Ha. Of course it didn’t. They still fight. All the time. But these days, the moment it begins, I give them a smug smirk, shrug, and walk away. Sayonara, folks! They know what that means. It means I learned very well from Mrs. LMSW what the triggers are, and I’m outta here, baby.

“But Maaa!!!! He—”

Shrug. You wanna keep at it? Go ahead, lemme know how it works out for you. I have way too many other things that need that particular space in my brain, something’s gotta go, and it’s Berel and Shmerel’s self-inflicted drama.

Shalom, y’all.

Exercise. I’m sorry, but a runner’s high has nothing on the endorphins I get from sitting and doing absolutely nothing.

—Michal S.