About last night: a parenting (semi)fail

Yesterday morning, in my Rosh Hashanah glow, I wrote about how I’ve been practicing accepting and celebrating my kids for who they are. Not trying to make them adhere to anyone else’s expectations of them. Allowing them to express themselves and follow their own paths. Acknowledging and validating their feelings.

So of course, last night, I kinda failed at all of that.

OK, maybe failed is too strong of a word. It’s more like…I hit a speed bump.

Going to Shul for the holidays (aka synagogue) is very important and meaningful to me. When I was growing up, my mom, dad, brother and I all went to services together, as a family. Sometimes I’d sit with my parents in the main service, other times I’d join my friends in the kids services. But we ALL ALWAYS went. As observant Jews, it was just part of the deal. I may not have always enjoyed it, but I didn’t question it. It’s just what we did.

My husband isn’t Jewish, so he didn’t grow up with any of these customs or traditions. But he’s not anything else, either, unless you consider science a religion. We talked about what our family would look like early in our relationship, and he agreed that because of how important my beliefs and culture are to me, we’d raise our kids in a Jewish home. He’s still incredibly supportive of this, although he does (half-jokingly) like to remind me how many vacations we could go on if we weren’t paying for Jewish private school.

Anyway. About last night.

We actually had a pretty decent day, until about 7pm. The kids were restless during morning services, but Brady and I did our best to let them be, as long as they weren’t disturbing anyone else. I wish that they had found at least some part of the prayers, songs, or teachings interesting, but I keep reminding myself that the best I can do is lead them to water. I can’t make them drink. After Shul, we went home and had lunch; I took Noah to a park to play with one of his friends; we shot rockets on the front lawn; Ellie and I played outside with our doggo; we had dinner; and we all crashed on the couch. We did have a couple of mini-meltdowns, both when I said we couldn’t go get ice cream an hour before dinner, and I told Ellie that going to get pedicures was not really a High Holiday activity.

Still, overall, I’d give it a 7/10.

Until.

Until, as we were lounging on the couch, Noah asked if he could sleep-in this morning. I lovingly reminded him that we have to go to Shul again for the second day of Rosh Hashanah, and you would have thought I told him that we were going to get all of his teeth extracted, one by one, without novocaine, by a murderous clown.

The wailing that came out of that boy…YEESH.

“I don’t want to go, why do we have to go AGAIN? It’s so BORING. I hate my life! I don’t want to spend my day off from school at Temple! What’s the pooooooiiinnnntttttt??”

Like wildfire spreading across the couch cushions, Ellie quickly piggybacked on all of this, telling me how services and prayers have no meaning for her and it’s a waste of her time to go. It’s the same refrain I hear every Saturday evening when we go to Shul to get her familiar with what she’ll be doing for her Bat Mitzvah. “It doesn’t mean anything to me. I’m just going because you want me to.”

Kids have this gift for instinctively knowing how to hit parents where it hurts.

I’m going to give myself some credit here, not because I am the world’s best parent by any means, but because I was aware enough in the moment to not follow my instinct to immediately shut down or lash out. Instead, I practiced what I’ve been learning about pausing before responding.

I took a few breaths, and tried calmly explaining that I understand how they feel. I acknowledged that services aren’t always the most entertaining for kids, but suggested that if they’re open to it, they might find some little part enjoyable, or at least interesting, enough to pay attention.

“NO.”

I explained to that going to Shul for the High Holidays is what our family does. It’s part of being Jewish, it’s part of our tradition, and while I get that it’s less than thrilling for them, it doesn’t change the fact that we’re going.

“I DON’T WANT TO. I HATE IT.”

I reminded them that the service we’re attending was designed to be more interactive than the regular one, and much, much shorter. That there would be plenty of time later in the day to do other fun things, like go outside again, or maybe even have ice cream for lunch! I asked them if there was anything at all they found interesting the first day, trying to engage them in the conversation.

“I CAN’T BELIEVE WE HAVE TO GO BACK TOMORROW. THIS IS THE WORST THING EVER!”

That’s when Noah stormed upstairs, and Ellie curled up into the fetal position and refused to respond to anything anyone said, her face buried in her iPad. When I asked her to please acknowledge me and she refused, I calmly took her iPad away and asked her to head upstairs to get ready for bed.

Much stomping ensued.

That’s also when my internal failure routine started to kick in.

“Am I horrible for making them go to Shul when they don’t want to? Is this completely against everything I’ve been trying to practice, with accepting who they are, and allowing them to express themselves? Am I leaving permanent psychological scars??”

But then I thought about Dr. Becky, a child psychologist with a prominent social following and a brand new book (if you’re not familiar with her, I highly recommend a follow), and how one of the things she talks about is setting clear boundaries. As parents, we can acknowledge how our kids feel when they’re angry or upset or defiant, but still uphold our positions. We can be “both and” — understanding and authoritative. We can help our kids process their feelings, while also teaching them that the world has rules that we sometimes need to follow. By being “both and,” we’re giving them permission and room to express themselves, but also helping them navigate external systems so that they can learn to respond in a way that’s healthy and regulated, rather than impulsive and disruptive.

At the time, I didn’t process all of this in a cohesive paragraph, of course. It was more like a quick flash of “yeah, ok, I can do this,” mixed with a healthy dose of “what the fuck?”

After both kids were in their respective rooms, still fuming from the couch incidents, my husband and I settled down in bed. I asked if he thought we should try to talk to them again. He suggested that they needed some time to cool down. I didn’t listen, though, because I’m the one who always wants to “talk through everything.” I’m uncomfortable with letting discomfort sit for too long. Still working on that one.

When I went to check-in on Noah, he was already asleep. I found Ellie, however, sitting on the floor in her bedroom closet, the door blockaded shut so no one could get in. I asked if she would come out so we could talk, and she coldly said no. “You always tell me that sometimes people just need alone time, right?” I couldn’t argue with that, so I said “I love you,” and walked back into my room.

My internal failure routine popped up again, but this time, it was mixed with sadness. And it was also on the outside, raw and vulnerable for my husband to hold.

ME: “I know they don’t mean it, but how they’re acting is hurtful. It hurts that none of this means anything to them.”

HIM: “We should tell them that.”

ME: “No, they’re not trying to hurt me. I’m the one who’s having that feeling. It’s on me to process it. I want them to know that I understand them, but also, that celebrating the holidays by going to Shul is what we do as a family. I feel really bad about it, though. I don’t know if what I’m doing is right.”

HIM: “They need to learn that there are family norms, and that they can be upset and also still participate in being part of the family. They’ll be OK. Let them cool off tonight, and we’ll revisit things in the morning.”

So that’s where we are right now.

I’m sitting on the couch, finishing up this post, while Ellie reads Archie comics next to me, as if nothing happened last night. Noah is still upstairs, playing a game on the Alexa. No one seems upset, at least not yet. I don’t know how they’ll react (or respond?) when I remind them they they need to get dressed for Shul in 20 minutes, but I’ll take that as it comes.

I guess I didn’t really fail last night, but I definitely did fumble.
I also got back up.

Parenting is f*ing hard.