This Week: Summer Camp is Over
We've got three weeks 'til the school year, and I'm actually kind of glad.
Dear fam,
I’m writing this on my couch, in my living room, as my wife walks down the stairs in a post-bedtime stupor. It’s been a really good day. Next to me, on the end table we bought on a whim during a winter road-trip through the Blue Ridge Mountains, is a cup of sage and lemongrass tea. Usually, I’m more of a whiskey person, but I was feeling cozy.
It’s raining outside, but today was all sunshine. We woke up, moseyed our way through breakfast and getting dressed, piled the kids in the car, and drove out to a nearby farm. There was supposed to be berry picking, but it was closed for the day. Unperturbed, we went to picked out some herbs to plant in the garden — Big Kid chose the parsley and sage — then selected vegetables at the farm stand and headed home. There, Big Kid and I did some planting in the backyard, had a water fight with the hose, “washed” the porch. We made a strawberry fruit shake. I put together some pesto with radish and beet greens. We read stories and he asked about why only astronauts can go to space and how rocket ships work.
Folks, it was pastoral as hell out here today.
That’s the Instagram version of things. Life is messy (by now you know I won’t shut up about how chaotic the universe is) and today was no exception. Big Kid whined about nothing at all, Baby was teething and sleepy and cranky. Big Kid watched a lot of TV; he’s getting an English accent from all that Peppa Pig. At one point I was both trying to get Baby not to eat literal dirt from the ground and trying to stop Big Kid from grabbing the shears out of the shed at the same time. It was around this time that I sent Big Kid to gently wake my wife who was napping (she’d been up since 6:30) because clearly extra hands were needed.
A four-year-old’s understanding of ‘gently’ does not necessarily match the more generally understood definition. Let’s leave it at that.
It was still a really good day, though.
Friday was the last day of Big Kid’s summer camp. He’s been going to a day camp at the local synagogue, which has been lovely. One week, they had pony rides, which Big Kid adored. They made crafts, and played in the sprinklers, and ate rainbow bagels.
Still, summer camp came with challenges. Mostly, the regular struggles of a super-sensory kid in a regular framework. I don’t know how to describe how hyper-perceptive Big Kid is without it sounding like I’m exaggerating. He hears the tiniest sounds, tastes the most minute differences in flavor, feels things on his skin other people wouldn’t perceive. It’s kind of spectacular sometimes. Like living with someone who’s a little bit of a superhuman. (“Did you hear that, mama?!” “Hear what? Oh that airplane that’s a teensy speck in the sky. Of course.”) But it also means things rapidly become too much for our Big Kid.
Big Kid can erupt like nobody’s business when he is having a moment of sensory overwhelm, as happens to folks with ADHD (like me), or struggling with a transition. It’s not pretty.
Once upon a time, about six months ago, my wife and I would have been exhausted at even the thought of summer camp ending. Three weeks of navigating the extra-special needs of our now two kids? Dispelling volcanic-grade tantrums all damn day? And trying to make a living? Yeesh. No, thank you.
But as I look forwards at the next few weeks, I find myself pretty unafraid. Dare I say, even optimistic. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m certain things will be at least a little bit of a shitshow. There will be meltdowns. I may lose my patience.
Two major things have changed, though.
First, we understand the arc and source of the meltdowns much, much better than before. The arc is pretty clear, if extreme. Here’s how it goes:
Big Kid begins to unravel. At this point, you have an opportunity to nip things in the bud — get him to a quieter spot or offer a compromise to the things he’s getting stuck on. If you miss (or are unable to meet) this moment, you’re in volcanic territory. At this point, get him to a safe place. Affirm his emotions (“I see you’re really upset” or “Are you feeling super angry?”). Don’t let him hurt anyone (including him) or anything. Hold space. Offer ways to dispel the anger (stomp it out, take a belly breath, push the wall, etc.) At some point he’ll take a breath. Here’s the second opportunity — grab it. We try to make him laugh at this point, because the emotional release of laughter is therapeutic and can usually get him onto an off-ramp. If that doesn’t work, we offer a hug and just breathe together until he’s calmed down.
The source is also clear, and that helps a lot. Knowing why Big Kid is losing his shit makes it less infuriating and easier to avoid. We provide a million jillion trillion prompts before every transition, like from dinner to bath time. We look out for signs that things are going pear-shaped. We use a heap of positive reinforcement (“Um, I know you have some beautiful words, so let’s try again without the whining, please.” or “Can you stay in your chair ‘til the end of dinner? Mama and Ima believe in you!”) and offer challenges to make tedious tasks more fun (“I bet I can clean up Legos faster than you!” = dopamine supercharge).
Of course, now that Baby has joined the mix it makes it harder to meet his special needs all the time. She has needs, too. She’s scooting her little tush around the room now, encountering new objects and challenges of her own. Mobility means she needs more attention from us (see above re: stopping her from eating dirt) and, seeing as our attention is finite, Big Kid has to wait a whole lot more. Things can get dicey.
If this all sounds really tiring, it’s because it is. Most days, I’m beat. But I’m still not afraid of the last three weeks of summer. I love summer, and I get to share the things I love about it (see above re: farms, sunshine, water fights, and strawberry smoothies) with my family. I mean, wow.
As happens to us freelancers, I suddenly found myself with a pile of books to read and review by the end of October. It never rains, but it pours, you know? One of these has been such a spiritual balm to me. It’s the perfect read for the month of Elul, traditionally a time of reflection and self-evaluation before the beginning of the new Jewish Year in the month of Tishrei. This book, People of the Word, takes a close look at fifty words that contain a seed of an important Jewish thought. I won’t spoil my review, which I’ll send to my editor in a month or so, but the book is beautifully built and reading it has become a highlight of my days.
In the very first chapter, the one about שמחה (simkha), happiness, the authors write:
“True satisfaction in life comes not from having the things we want but from wanting the things we have. To this end, there is a Jewish practice of reciting at least one hundred blessings each day, to seek out every opportunity to remember and verbally acknowledge our gratitude for the basic amenities of life. For in life, the only things we truly have are the things we appreciate.”
I’m not going to pretend I recite one hundred blessings a day. Nor do I agree that all that’s required of folks is just a little more appreciation. The world is more complicated (chaotic!) than that. There are major societal issues in every country, city, neighborhood, block, that require overhauling systems in order to create true opportunities for the pursuit of happiness.
Nonetheless, since I read those words I’ve begun trying to pay attention to the little moments that make me smile. I’ve been trying to remember to say thank you to G-d, the universe, whatever forces came together so I could be sitting at the table next to a four-year-old who just grinned and told me that our family is “the silliest in all the land.” I mean, that’s pretty great.
There are moments I wish I could be neurotypical. Lots of moments. There are moments I’ve wished things could be simpler here in our Chaos Palace, or that the world wasn’t such a fucked up place. Lord, so many moments. I don’t think I’ll ever stop wanting the world to be less fucked up. But I think we need to notice — really stop and acknowledge — the glorious moments, too. I can’t think only of the hard parts of being a neurodivergent queer family in a messed up world built for neurotypical cis-het folks. I’ve gotta stop to revel in the creative, wacky, weirdness of us, too.
Tell me about your weirdness in the comments, won’t you?
Shavua tov,
Mikhal
What I’m reading
As I mentioned above, I’m reading a bunch of stuff to review this summer. Right now, I’m in the middle of People of the Word, by Rabbis Zalman Abraham and Mendel Kalmanson. I’m also reading The Marriage Box, by Corie Adjimi and Growing Up in Public by
, both of which you should check out! Four wonderful pieces that showed up in my Substack this week were:This freaking priceless Guide to Kids & Anti-Fat Bias by
. This should, frankly, be required reading for anyone who interfaces with young people ever.The Secret Feminist History of Butter Cows by
, as usual a deftly written piece with surprising turns and interesting information about butter sculpting.This unbelievably detailed and rich resource sheet for “exploring Judaism,” compiled by the very wise and knowledgable
. I will henceforth never run our of things to read and listen to.This short but powerful rumination on the wildfires in Maui by
.
What I’m listening to
I’m still binging Maintenance Phase, the acclaimed podcast that debunks wellness trends and fad diets, hosted by the inimitable
and . They are both brilliant. Some episodes that totally melted my brain this week (in a good way) are:Although, honestly, listen to the whole thing. And then call me to talk about it.
What I’m writing
This week I did a lot of proprietary writing for private clients, so I won’t share that with y’all. I also wrote a long reported essay for this here newsletter, though, all about the history of body hair removal and why I feel conflicted about the whole thing. Full disclosure, it is behind a paywall. But if you wanna read it and the rest of the paid essays and Q&As anyway, snag a free trial subscription! Or message me and I’ll comp ya a free week or so, no questions asked.
