This Week: One Day at a Time?
What a time to be alive.
Dear fam,
We made it through the second week of kindergarten, and it was (on the whole) easier than the first week. That is to say, Big Kid’s Volcano-O’-Feelings1 was mostly reserved for home time instead of school time. As a result, she felt better about the week whilst her other mom and I are, shall we say, depleted.
I feel confident that if I went to sleep right now I could easily sleep ‘til tomorrow. My wife? She’s literally asleep right now. It’s 10:30 in the morning.
The nights were rough this week. We have one kid putting out four teeth at once, and one who has terrible nightmares every night.
One night, I slept on the hardwood floor of the kids’ room.
One night, Big Kid spent the night in our bed, flailing her arms and legs as she slept.
Last night, I actually got some sleep — but my wife sat for over an hour in the hard-backed wooden chair by Toddler’s crib, trying to soothe her despite achy gums.
Sleep is a crucial part of being a functioning person. This is true for everyone, but especially for the neurospicy among us. I have a whole essay planned about the relationship between ADHD and sleep disorders, but suffice to say we aren’t a well-rested community. The more tired we are, the less well our brains work, the more cranky and anxious we get, the less we sleep. And on and on to infinity, as seen in this nifty very scientific chart I just made:
We’re trying very hard to nip this cycle in the bud either on the green arrow (Emotional Overwhelm) or the yellow arrow (Acting Out & Rejection). It’s damn hard, but if we can either manage the gushing emotions or get through the acting out without her experiencing emotion, we might be able to avoid exacerbated anxiety and, therefore, get everyone some decent sleep.
Doesn’t that sound so straightforward? Easy-peasy lemon squeezy, amiright?
Problem is, of course, when this is happening in real time.
Yesterday, for example, Big Kid would not put her shoes on in the morning. She can’t ever just walk somewhere; she parkours her way through the world. At this moment, when we were supposed to have left, she was shimmying down the banister and climbing over the baby-gate to the stair where her shoes awaited her eventual arrival.
Reader, I lost my patience and raised my voice. Actually, I unironically said the phrase “get your rear in gear,” which I believe means I have completed my transformation into a 1990s sitcom parent.
Nonetheless, she yelled back at me (of course) and got annoyed (of course) and my wife shot me a warning look. I took a deep breath (in-two-three-four, hold-two, out-two-three-four-five-six) and headed out the door. As we left, my wife called, “Make sure she goes in the door on the right foot!”
With the above chart in mind, I tried to repair on the way to school. We both apologized to each other for yelling. We said we’d try again. We hugged, held hands. She went into school happy.
And so it goes! Every moment this week was a tactical parenting challenge and an exercise in emotional hyper-awareness. I expect the coming days and weeks to be the same. The thing about parenting Big Kid (and, I suspect, other neurodivergent kids) is that you have to be on your game at all times. The outcomes of messing up are often disastrous. Why, just last Shabbat, Big Kid destroyed the blind over our bed in a fit of rage because her babysitter wouldn’t let her spread confetti around the house. Please note that in the picture below, the confetti is, in fact, strewn across the bed.
Bringing one’s A game at all times is impossible. So, in lieu of perfection, we must compromise on self-compassion. And taking things one day at a time.
In a few hours, my wife and I will sit down with a saxophonist/percussionist to rehearse the music we’ll be singing over Rosh Hashanah at synagogue. I love getting to revisit this music every year, and I’m excited to delve into it again.
Among other things, prayer helps me focus the mind in a similar way to how I believe others may feel about meditation. On Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, I have the honor (as chazzan) of chanting the Hineini (Here I am) prayer — a public declaration of humility recited by whomever will be leading prayers. Here’s an excerpt:
“Behold, here I stand before You, impoverished in good deeds, perturbed and frightened in fear [of G-d], Who is enthroned upon the praises of the people of Yisrael. I have come to stand and to plead before You in behalf of Your people, Yisrael, who have appointed me their messenger; even though I am not worthy or qualified for the task. I therefore beseech You […] Almighty, Compassionate and Gracious, G-d of Yisrael, Shaddai, Eminent and Awesome, please, help me succeed in the mission which I have undertaken to stand [before You] and to seek mercy for myself and for those who have appointed me.”
It’s traditional to sing these words while walking through the community, towards the ark, eventually ascending the stairs (if relevant) and standing before the Torah scrolls.
This is, for me, one of the most emotionally charged moments in the whole service. As I wrote, it focuses the mind on the most important part of leading others in prayer:
It’s not about me. It’s not about you. It’s about us.
Alone, we are weak and full of fault. Together, we can lift one another up.
I would never get a tattoo , but I often think that if I did it would be of the word Hineini (הנני). Here I am. I think it would remind me to be present, fully, in whatever chaos happens to be happening. I’m very far from perfect, but hey, so is the world. And everyone else. G-d, will you reach inside me and help me find the strength to do the best I can — and forgive myself all the rest?
Shabbat shalom,
Mikhal
Welcome to the Chaos Palace is about coloring outside society's boring ol' lines.
More specifically, it's about ADHD, parenting, queerness, and Judaism. Subscribe to get new ideas (big and small) about how to expand the boundaries of societal rules. Paying subscribers get updates from my own Chaos Palace, as well as conversations with folks who are whistling their own quirky tune and reported essays — for just $5 a month (or $55 for the year)! I also write poems sometimes, as well as thoughts about the complexities of the place I was raised in and love — Jerusalem, Israel.
And now some links…
wrote an incisive piece about The Banality of White Male Rage took my breath away with this piece about “the hardest job at Arlington National Cemetary” wrote with compassion about letting go of the diet culture we were all raised with — and how hard it can be. released a gorgeous new song called Red Letter Days. Incidentally, my personal hero Ani Difranco also has a song called Red Letter Year, which is very different and much older, but also wonderful.The review I wrote of
’s stunner of a novel, Housemates, is up on the Jewish Book Council’s site!Buy this book! Or, request it from your local library. Just get your hands on it, is what I’m saying.
My colleague at Sefaria, Sara Wolkenfeld, wrote a fascinating piece for The Atlantic about why we shouldn’t outsource creativity to AI.
Caitlin Dickerson’s account of the journey migrants make to get to the U.S.A from Central and South America is a must-read for anyone considering talking about or having an opinion on immigration ever again.
Patent pending
My nine year old also does parkour to get across the room and managed to sprain his neck moments before we were leaving for the first day of school. 🤦🏼♀️ Meanwhile my daydreaming inattentive ADHD six year old resents any reminders to hurry up and will deliberately walk at a glacial pace if I dare to remind her we're running late. Really it's a small miracle that we ever get to school in the morning.