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Homeless... at Home: Chapter 5 - Flip Flops

I tell Seth that if he doesn't get himself under control I’m going to report him for child abuse. Immediately this warning, he improves. He now flips between good days and bad weeks.

Navigate to other chapters of Homeless... at Home by Shlomit Weber

Homeless... at Home
Table of contents
Prev: Chapter 4 - Winter of his Discontent
Next: Chapter 6: War

Flip-Flop

Dear Diary,

Yesterday Leora whispered, "Abba's getting bad again, right, Ima?"

It's been three weeks since I threatened to take action if Seth can't control himself.

Poor Leora. A four and a half year old should not have to worry constantly about what mood her father is in.

There were a couple of days last week when he seemed to be slipping back, but then he came back out of it. Now, Leora's comment confirmed my impression that this past Shabbat was more like the bad old days.

Eli, too, is back in protective mode. It was nice to see him dare to approach Seth last week and talk with him. Grinning as though a TV idol were honoring him with his attention.

Seth is definitely better than he was. He seems like a normal person who gets mad easily, and has bad days, rather than the zombie he was all winter.

A couple of weeks ago, as I was putting the previous notebook up on my shelf, after scribbling across the front, “Winter of his Discontent”, I stopped and read the first entry. About that joyful camping trip that we three sisters went on last summer. I mused, “Hopefully there will be joy in our lives again, after that long, cold winter!”

But now … I’m not so sure …

Work

This job I've started is so nice. Documentation doesn't have the eurekas of programming, but it doesn't have the stress, either. You can have mad rushes to meet deadlines, but you don't spend days chasing illusive bugs.

The people are relaxed and friendly, and it's nice to be back in the saddle.

It was a little too soon for my poor legs, though. The swelling has been going steadily down over the past year, but now that I’m sitting still for hours at a time (something that definitely doesn't happen when you're home with children!) I'm getting that familiar full feeling in my calves. An unpleasant itchy feeling that sends my heart pounding, thinking it might turn into another DVT.

What would I do if I were at work and had to be rushed to the hospital?

I brought in one of the old black root beer crates that were bookshelves in my bachelorette apartment, and I prop my feet up under my desk. I guess it helps. I take a couple of aspirin when I worry that my blood might decide to coagulate.

More flip flops

In the two months since I told Seth to take care of his problems, he has been swinging between days when he is pleasant, and days when he is back to being angry. A couple of good days and then a few bad ones. It's better than the unrelenting violent sulking depression, but it's exhausting never knowing what the next day or hour will bring. Never knowing which Seth will come downstairs in the morning or walk in through the door in the evening.

When he's bad, he hits the children as much as he did when he was depressed. Even when he's good, there can be tantrums - surges of anger coming from someplace inside him.

Empathizing with the slaves in Egypt

When I was about to sign the contract for this job, I told Seth that when I went back to work, it couldn't be as it was before, where I also have full responsibility for the children and their health and schooling, for the laundry and for cleaning the house and maintaining the car and anything that malfunctions or has to be dealt with.

If we're both working, we should both share the other responsibilities, too. He seemed to grunt an absentminded acknowledgment. But, of course, he was still in his depression at that point, so I didn't push it.

So I started work in February, but I didn't see him taking over any of the things I had been doing when I wasn't working - and the years before. But of course, he was still depressed even after I started back, so I just let it be.

When I told him to shape up, his mood improved, but the division of labor didn't.

When I started cleaning in earnest for Passover, I said, "So how are we going to split up the Pesah cleaning?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I guess I'll do half and you'll do half? I could do the downstairs and you could do the upstairs, or the other way around. Or two bedrooms apiece each and do the kitchen together. I'll do the living room and you do the car and bomb shelter? However you want."

"OK, fine." He murmured, not even looking up from the TV.

So I deep-cleaned two bedrooms, with the children's help. I started on the living room and still didn't see any pre-Pesah activity on his part. Time was going by. I asked whether he was really going to do the other two bedrooms and he said he didn't know if he would get to both of them. Meanwhile he's watching TV every night and reading his books and magazines and newspapers, while I'm trying to carve time out of an already over-full day to do bits of Spring cleaning.

So I started on one of 'his' bedrooms and finished the living room. I asked if I should do 'his' other bedroom, and he didn't even look up from StarTrek - just gave an amused little smile and shrug and said, "Sure."

So, there's less than a week left till Passover. Seth's parents will be here before that.

The shelter should be done on a sunny day so we can pile the stuff out back, and so the cement floor in there will dry after it gets scrubbed. I've done whatever can be done ahead of time in the kitchen.

I guess this afternoon the children and I will tackle the shelter. If he doesn't do the car soon, I'll get out there and vacuum out a year's worth of cookie crumbs.

Responsibility

When I was grumbling that Seth wanted me to go back to work, but then didn't help make it workable, it seemed obvious that if Seth is going to make decisions, he should take responsibility for the results and repercussions.

That keeps ricocheting around in my head. I realize that that's what's wrong with his policy of making all the decisions. He doesn't take us into account when he makes them. He doesn't deal with the fallout of the decisions he makes. I'm always cleaning up his messes.

Back at Talia when he said he wanted to make all the decisions, I agreed, thinking, "Well, if Seth wants to have responsibility for the decision making ..."

But he doesn't make decisions like the head of a household. He makes decisions like a small child.

In my parent's home, my mother made the decisions about meals. Meals were my mother's responsibility. See how naturally those two ideas go together? We assume that saying one says the other. But we children, and Dad, never felt she was a tyrant, because part of her responsibility, as she saw it, was to make the meals healthy and tasty. I'm sure she never thought, 'I'm shopping and cooking, so they'll darned well eat what I put in front of them!'

If you let a two year old decide about meals, he might serve everybody Krembo - not caring that the rest of the family would hate a meal of marshmallow fluff. Or Pizza Hut every night, not taking the family budget into account. Or Gummy Bears, not bothering to worry about the nutritional content.

Hey - it wouldn't be bad to be married to someone who demands to take responsibility for everything. Who would plan the meals, budget the money, decorate the house – making sure it all comes out best for everybody. But it's cheating for him to do all of that in a self-serving way.

The other day, Leora was drawing a picture of Midnight sleeping on an end table in the living room. She showed me the picture in dismay - the black blob of the curled up cat in the middle, on the brown wooden table, next to the brown upholstery of the sofas, the brown leather of the lounge chair, brown wood of the shelves, dark blue and brown carpet. "Ima! Look at my picture! Why is everything brown in this house!"

Our living room has always looked more like a man's den, than like a family living room.

"I guess Abba likes brown," I answered.

I braced for his explosion when she went to him, more daring that I would ever be, and pointed out, "Abba! Our house is all brown and ugly!"

He answered calmly, "While you live in my house, you'll live with things the way I want them. When you grow up and have a house of your own, you can have whatever kind of house you want."

It didn't work that way for me, did it? In fact, I had more freedom in my parents' home! I decorated my own room, and we discussed the rest of the house as a family. We discussed vacations and outings. What to watch on TV. We all had ideas about the garden. Of course, my parents had the final say, but they were always interested in getting our input. And they would never decide something that would be convenient for themselves, but that would be unpleasant for the rest of us.

Who's the Boss revisited

Seth's parents are here for Passover. It's nice to have the company.

Yesterday, Seth's mother and I were going to drive downtown with the children, and as we walked through the bare dirt by the driveway to get to the car, she said it would be a good idea to plant some grass or to put in a little walkway. Something I've suggested to Seth, because the dirt from the bare yard, which is his responsibility, gets tracked into the house, which is my responsibility to keep clean.

During the week, Mom has suggested several things that obviously need to be done around here. We should trim that hedge under the clotheslines. (And she's never even had to hang up clothes after a C-section, with branches poking into a stitched-up belly!) We should put brighter bulbs in the living room - it's so gloomy. Replace the dangling pigtails with proper light fixtures.

Finally, at this suggestion about the yard, I said, "It's a good idea, Mom, but you're talking to the wrong person. I don't have any say in the decisions around here. If you have any ideas, tell Seth."

"Well, you should assert yourself more, Shlomit. You should make sure Seth knows what you want. You should be making your share of the decisions."

"No, Mom, I'm not going to assert myself. It only makes Seth angry, and when he's mad he hits the children."

By this time we were all in the car, and she shot me a meaningful glare, and motioned toward the back seat. "You don't want the children to hear you!" she mumbled.

"Mom! They're right there when he's hitting them! They know he does it! Why shouldn’t they hear me say that he hits them?"

"I'm sure Seth only punishes the children when it's absolutely necessary," she said, loudly, for the benefit of our silent little audience in the back seat.

"No, he doesn't, Mom," I said, also for the benefit of the children, "and I hope the children don't think they deserve what he does to them."

I also hesitate to talk to the children about what's going on. I also feel it's disrespectful to talk about their father that way. But is it any better to let them reach their own conclusions? How is it that he doesn't feel guilty to behave badly, and then I feel guilty to talk about it?

Instincts

The day before Seth’s parents left, Seth's mother was looking at the books on the bookshelves, and came upon ‘Children: the Challenge’ and some other parenting books.

"I see you're reading books on how to raise children!" She seemed amused. "You know, I never bothered to read books on the subject. I just went by my instincts."

"Sure, Mom, but sometimes these books can point out bad habits you don't even realize you have, or good things you could do but just didn't think of."

"Oh, you don't have to worry so much about how you raise a child, Shlomit. They always turn out just fine."

I'd love to believe that Seth's abuse isn't having an impact on the children. Maybe she's right. Maybe I worry about it too much.

May Day! May Day!

"Oh, wait! You're home tomorrow, right, Seth? For May Day?"

"Correct ..." suspiciously.

"Rafi has his two year checkup at the clinic at nine thirty. I was going to stay home to take him, but if you're home anyway, you could. In fact ..." things were falling into place, "instead of getting in late and missing even more hours, if you’re here I could go in to work as soon as I get up. Get in by six o'clock. You could get Eli and Leora off, and take Rafi to the clinic. I'll lay everything out ..."

Oops! Seth does not have that happy camper look about him ...

"… or ... I'll have everybody ready to go and you can just ..."

"There were several things I was planning to do on my day off, Shlomit. I'll let you know if I’ll be able to take Rafi for his checkup."

I couldn't go in early, this morning, because Seth was still asleep when I would have left, so I couldn’t ask him if he would be able to work Rafi’s appointment into his plans. So I got Eli and Leora off to kindergarten. When Seth got up, I asked him whether he would be able to take Rafi. "I'll let you know!" Very much annoyed that I had repeated the same question two days in a row.

I had been planning to spend the hour before the appointment getting the children's summer clothes down from the top shelf of their closet, but I thought Seth might tell me any minute that he could take Rafi, and I didn't want to be knee deep in tee-shirts. OK. Good excuse to just play with Rafi for awhile. Seth was reading Physics Today over his second cup of coffee.

A little after nine o'clock, I got Rafi ready, put him in the back pack, and started wheeling my bike out the door. "OK. See you tonight! Say, 'Bye-bye, Abba.'"

"Where are you going?" Seth snapped.

"Taking Rafi to the clinic ..."

"I thought you wanted me to take him," Seth barked.

"Well, yeah, but you didn't tell me whether you would ..."

"OK. So I'm telling you now. I'll take him."

"Well, it won't help at this point, Seth - I wouldn't have stayed home all morning if I had known you would take him. I might as well take him now, on my way to work. Anyway, there isn't time to tell you what I wanted to discuss with the nurse." I looked at my watch.

"As you wish. I don't know why you had me waiting around all morning if you were going to take him, anyway, Shlomit!" he smacked his magazine down on the table and took his mug into the kitchen.

So, needless to say, I'm writing this in the waiting room at the clinic. Rafi is playing with the jumble of toys in the play area.

It's no big deal, I guess, the misunderstanding of this morning. If Seth hadn't had the day off, I would have been exactly here doing exactly this.

Talking to him

Just now I asked Seth how we can avoid misunderstandings like what happened this morning.

All he said was, "Well, you can't just expect me to fit in with your schedule, that's all," and he closed the bathroom door to take his shower.

His son's appointment at the clinic is my schedule? Well, he didn't bother to ask how the visit went, so I guess he really feels that it has nothing to do with him.

May Day! May Day! Help me to understand this person.

Wonderful twosies

At Rafi's two year checkup, they asked whether he is talking yet. I had to answer that he isn't. He seems to be off in his own world most of the time. He doesn't even try to listen to casual conversation in the family. Is this his way of protecting himself from this violent home in which he's growing up?

We each have our own style of dealing with Seth's episodes. I freeze and chant to myself. Eli worries and cries. Leora clenches her teeth and glares back, and even though her eyes are glistening with tears, she rarely gives Seth the satisfaction of letting him make her cry. Which has earned her worse physical punishment than the others get. And Rafi beams himself up to his make-believe world. During meals, when he plays with his food and utensils, he acts as though this whole dysfunctional family just isn't there.

Non Verbal Communication

I was so excited about the book "Children: the Challenge", that Nora wanted to read it. She also found it to be very insightful.

She didn't give it back when she had finished, because Sam is reading it, too. A couple of times in the past few weeks Nora has said, "He's gotten to the chapter on such-and-such, and I can see that he is putting some of the ideas into practice with the children."

I'm so jealous. Yesterday I told Nora how I envy her, having a husband to whom she could recommend a book like that, who would actually read it and discuss it with her as he went along! She laughed. "Shlomit, I would never suggest to Sam that he read any kind of book on interpersonal relationships!"

"But you said he's reading it ..."

"Sure! I took all the other reading material out of the bathroom."

"So you're just guessing that he's reading it?"

"Nah! The bookmark is moving. I check it every once in awhile. That's how I know what part he's up to."

I laughed, "You'd just better hope he doesn't figure out what you're up to!"

Just Rafi

It's so nice to have these two weeks with just Rafi, while Seth is working at a lab in the US, and Eli and Leora are with Seth's parents. I went back to work just when Rafi needed me most. Even Seth's mother tried to convince Seth to let me stay home longer, because Rafi needs one-on-one attention. Again, I placed Seth's requirements before Rafi's. Just as I did when I was pregnant with him.

And this week, I guess from the extra attention, Rafi learned a couple of words - 'Marmite' and 'airplane'. He loves Marmite, and when he spotted a jar on the neighbor's table when we were invited for Shabbat lunch, his first word popped out! He also loves airplanes, and I'm looking forward to taking him on one next week when we fly over to join the others. Yesterday as he walked his Fisher Price Ima and Rafi up into their plane, he said an approximation of 'airplane'.

Seth's mother says Seth didn't talk until he was three and a half. Maybe it's just an inherited tendency. Nothing to do with being a preemie or all the smacks in the head he gets when Seth is in a foul mood.

Poor kid. He had such a rough start in life. All of my cramps and dizzy spells when I was carrying him couldn't have been good. I was always exhausted - he probably was, too. Who knows what my weekly injection did to him, and all the chemicals they poured into me at the hospital to try to keep him in there. All the bleeding, and my going shocky every couple of days. Then the weeks in the incubator when I couldn't even hold him or feed him or talk to him. And after all of that, I wasn't allowed to nurse him.

And then all that trouble trying to feed him.

Then when he was one and a half his eating improved a little and it seemed maybe everything would be OK and then Seth went into this depression.

Rafi always gets it in the head.

Is Seth aiming for a place where a bruise wouldn’t show? Or is that just the closest available part of Rafi, because he’s small? Or because at the table, that's all Seth can reach. Seth miscalculated, last week, and hit his hand on the high chair, and that really made him furious. Didn't he stop to think that if the smacks could hurt his hand that much, they were hurting Rafi's head, too, when they connected?

Even Seth's mother has told him not to hit the children in the head. And not to shake Rafi because it could cause neurological damage.

Jessica was here once when Seth was shaking Rafi and she started crying and shouting at him, and grabbed Rafi and took him into the kitchen, away from Seth.

Maybe I should just get big mirrors installed on the walls, or get a video camera, so he can see himself as we see him.

Is it a coincidence that Rafi doesn’t talk and doesn’t … connect? Is that the kind of neurological damage I have to worry about? Or do I need to worry about epilepsy or fainting spells or worse?

More Rafi

Rafi is unable to gauge the emotional mood of his environment. Like Seth, in a way. There will be an evening when the rest of us have assessed Seth's mood as soon as he came in the door, and have gone into stealth mode. Cloaking like a Romulan vessel, trying to be invisible to Seth. Don't talk, don't do anything in his presence. Go with the flow. Get dinner over with as quickly as possible and then melt away upstairs. It's possible to infuriate Seth even in this mode, but hopefully less likely.

But Rafi doesn't catch on. He'll be there, acting ... well, acting like a normal two year old. Vocalizing and moving around in his chair, dropping silverware, reaching for things. This brings him, unfairly, to Seth's attention, so the smacks are more likely to land on him.

Maybe social awareness comes at a later age. I wonder when Seth is going to develop it.

Last Night I Had the Strangest Dream

I'm writing this at the airport waiting for our flight to the US. It's nearly midnight and Rafi is curled up asleep on the seat next to me. It will be so good to see Eli and Leora after almost two weeks. I figured they would be safe with Seth while they're at his parents' house. And on the flight over, even if Seth were on edge, there would always be other people around.

I'm sure they're having a great time being spoiled by Seth's parents. I fax them letters every day. This is the first time I've been away from Eli and Leora since those awful months I was in the hospital when Rafi was born. I miss their soft little bodies and their sweet voices. So cute and funny and such good company. I'll see them in twelve hours.

I was already missing Eli and Leora and longing to be with them. Then, on the news a week ago, they started talking about this war that's going to be launched against Saddam. It's so hard to be away from your children in times of uncertainty.

I guess it was these worries that prompted my strange dream last night. And of course the normal excitement before a trip. And, I guess, the prospect of seeing Seth again. I just sighed as I wrote that.

When I went to bed last night, I left my address book by the computer so that this morning before leaving for work, I could update and print up my address list to take along. In my dream, it was morning and I brought my duffel bag downstairs, and I had just sat down to fix up the list, when Seth burst in through the door! He grabbed me by the arm and pulled me out to the car, and told me to get in and start driving. "We're going to the airport," he announced as we got into the car.

"What about Rafi? He's asleep upstairs! I can't go without him!" I cried. We hadn't even closed the front door. "Where are Eli and Leora?"

Seth just kept staring straight ahead, there in the passenger's seat, and then he said, "We have everything we need." I looked in the back seat, and all that was back there was Seth's attache case.

"I have to get Rafi! Where are Eli and Leora?" I was screaming silently as I woke up. It seemed so real, and I was so panicked, that I actually rolled over to check on Rafi there in my bed. There was his little blond head, safe and sound. I hadn't run off and abandoned him after all!

Before we came to the airport, tonight, we were at Nora's for supper so I wouldn't have to worry about dishes and leftovers. The dream had been drifting in and out of my consciousness all day, and I told Nora about it. "So strange!" I said.

"It's not strange at all," Nora informed me. "It's very clear. Seth pulls you away from your friends and other people and obligations - the address list he forced you to abandon - and from the children. Your luggage was left behind - that represents everything about you. Your personality and preferences. Leaving the house door open represents your fears for the safety of the family. His brief case of course represents his work which is the only thing that is always taken into account."

I have to admit that Nora's interpretation seems spot on.

Well, they're calling our flight. More later.

Getting High

Rafi was sleepy, but very much impressed to be climbing up the stairs to the 'ayapane'. He was thrilled with the little pillow and blanket, and fell right to sleep.

There's something about being up in a plane that makes you able to get perspective on things. Something about being isolated, and hanging between the reality of home and the reality of vacation. Being in transition between time zones and cultures.

It's been four months now since Seth came out of that depression of last winter. He's much better, so I didn't follow up on my threat to report him to the authorities. But it's patchy. About half good days and half bad, I guess, but the bad ones impinge on us more.

The children have evolved a whole system of diagnostics. I've come across Eli and Leora discussing whether today’s bad mood is as bad as the one when we were at Ruthi's, or better than the one when we were buying shoes.

One of them will start to say or do something that might have been perfectly safe a day before, and the other will warn, with gestures, grimaces or whispers, that Abba is not in the mood for it.

OK – they’re coming around with dinner. Then I’ll get some sleep.

Family Reunion

I'm sitting at the end of the dock outside Paul and Nancy's cabin. One thing I like about being jet lagged in this direction is getting up so early in the morning. One thing I like about staying with my brother and sister-in-law is that there's always hot coffee in the coffee maker. The lake is so still and beautiful.

Eli and Leora had a wonderful time being spoiled by Seth's parents. It was so good to see those children again, though I think they missed Rafi as much as they missed me. He was just as delighted to see them again. This only-child bit has its perks, but, all in all, children like to have their sibs around.

Seth will finish up the job in DC and then head back to Israel. We came out west to a really great family reunion up here at Paul's.

The life style in northern Michigan is like a permanent vacation. We slept in Jeanie's tent with them. (Don't ask how she could sleep on an air mattress, five months pregnant!) We swam at several different beaches, had picnics.

Last night we had a campfire on the beach. Singing the old family favorites and toasting the kosher marshmallows I had brought along.

Nancy turned to me, between songs, and smiled. There I was, surrounded by my children. Skewering marshmallows onto sticks, consoling for fallen or burnt ones, warning about dire consequences of stepping on embers, or of sticks in eyes or throats. ("Remember what happened to Uncle Paul when he was your age!!!") Nancy said, "It would be hard to be a single parent all the time, wouldn't it!"

I laughed, thinking she was joking. I have just had the best two weeks I've had all year - except for the break we got in February when Seth was away.

Nancy frowned. "Don't you think?"

"You're serious?"

"Yes! It must be hard to have full responsibility for three small children."

"No ... it's fine ... I mean ... it's really … fine without …" I said vaguely. Paul must be a good husband and father if it's really easier for Nancy to care for three year old Rose when her Daddy is there, than when he's not.

But of course, it should be easier, shouldn't it. When I was a child, Dad went on business trips a few times a year. Without him, the house was kind of empty. Frail, somehow. Mom did everything that needed doing, but dinner times were smaller and colder without Dad's big voice and laugh. Without his jokes. And admonitions, when necessary.

Whereas, when Seth is away, life is warmer and rounder and brighter and smilier. When it's 'just us'.

"Dad"

The reunion in Michigan was great, and now we're having wonderful healing times here in Ohio, at Kay's and with my parents. Kay and her boys spent today here at my parents' big house, after a breakfast picnic at the park.

After lunch, Mom wanted to ask Dad if he could set up the sprinkler for the five grandchildren. Kay told her, "Dad's out in the driveway." Tim's face lighted up. "He is? Spence! Daddy's here!" Kay’s two boys started trotting toward the back door, and Kay said, "No, I meant Grampa, not Daddy. You'll see Daddy tonight. Go ask Grampa if he'll set up the sprinkler."

"Yeah!" I said to my three, who were constructing complicated cloverleaves with Tim and Spence's road set. "Go help Grampa set up the sprinkler, and then get your bathing suits on!" The five of them raced out, cheering.

I love to watch Tom with their boys. And with my children. Telling the fantastic endless stories he invents, in which the five of them are the heroes. Playing physical games involving chasing and tickling and swooping up into the air. Teaching, explaining, listening, agreeing, praising.

My Dad plays with them, too. Shows them tricks. Tells them jokes. Wiggles his ears. Dad has a whole repertoire of kid pleasers.

Paul had taken each child out in the canoe for a private paddling lesson. He played Go Fish endlessly with them on the porch, that rainy morning. Put them all to work helping make the soup.

Even before Seth got depressed, he never did anything like that. Never interacted with his children any more than he had to. I do remember once when Eli was little, that Eli was sitting in the laundry tub and Seth started rocking the tub. Eli had such a good time. Squealing and laughing at being tumbled around. I have a snapshot of it. When Eli and Leora were little, we used to go meet Abba coming home from his bus stop. "Let's go find Abba!" But since he got so depressed and violent, we postpone the encounter for as long as possible.

None of us would be happy if Seth suddenly materialized in the driveway. We can be away from Seth for three weeks and nobody mentions him. If someone else does, our thoughts sort of skid to a halt.

Kitchens

OK. The zillions of pictures I'm taking will have to take the place of diary entries for this trip. I'm having too much fun. I'm sitting now in Kay's new kitchen. They were microwaving their dinners in the bathroom for a good part of the winter, but it's worth it. The new kitchen is beautiful.

I used to think that it was because we lived in Israel that we lead such a drab Spartan life. But now, seeing how Nora and Sam live, I realize that it's only because of Seth's restrictions.

Kay's kitchen has hardwood floors that they discovered when they pulled up the old linoleum. Wallpapered plasterboard walls, wooden cabinets, and curtains.

"All your textiles and wood and plaster make your kitchen sound so cozy, Kay." I said.

"Sound cozy or look cozy?" she asked, puzzled.

"Our kitchen is cement block and tile and terrazzo and Formica. Nothing to deaden the sound. When all three children are crying at once, the kitchen just rings with the noise!"

Kay looked at me, even more puzzled. "Why would they be crying, Shlomit? All at once, or otherwise?"

"Well ... at the dinner table ... sometimes ... you know …"

"Children should be eating at the dinner table, Shlomit, not crying." She looked over at our five who were laughing and chattering as they enjoyed their mint chocolate chip.

I need these 'sanity check' weeks living with normal people.

Yes. Life should be easier, raising children should be easier, not harder, when the other parent is beside you.

Yes. A wife and children should miss their husband and father when he's not with them.

No. It is not normal for children to be crying at mealtime.

How did I get to think of our difficult life as normal?

One thing I've done this trip to get our home life to be more peaceful is to buy a $60 air ionizer. The blurb on the box doesn't claim that it will put you in a good mood, but if Seth's bad moods really are from being starved for the negative ions produced by his laser, I'll just have to add some to the air at home.

I also got a baby seat for the back of the bike, for Rafi. He has outgrown the old back pack.

Circle Game

Seth's mother followed me down to the basement when I came down to check on the clothes in the dryer. They live near the New York airports, so on every trip to the US, they're our first stop and our last stop.

As we sorted laundry on Seth's bed, she said, "Shlomit, you have to realize that Seth can't help being the way he is."

"He can't?" I got a chill. It sounded so final. So all my hopes for a good home life are unfounded? His own mother has no hope for him?

"No. That's just the way he is."

"I guess I knew that," I said, staring at the tee shirt in my lap. Then I looked up at her, "I know it's not his fault - how he is. But it's really ... hard ... to raise children alongside him, if he can't control himself."

She looked shocked, "Oh! He can control himself! He has no trouble controlling himself!"

"But then ... why does he behave the way he does? Why does he hurt his own children?"

"That's just the way he is, Shlomit!"

We finished sorting the laundry in silence. I went round and round that logical circle a few more times.

When I'm in Seth's old basement bedroom, I'm bombarded with vibes from the decade that Seth lived down here. Maybe he wishes we had a basement in our house that he could crawl into to get away from us.

Our house. When I think of going back to that house, and that situation with Seth, I get chills. Compared to last summer's trip to the US, when I felt so optimistic about the future.

Oh, well, in January we'll have this war with Saddam Housein to worry about. Then we'll all wish we had a basement to hide in.

Compromising Situation

Here's a quote for my mental bulletin board:

"Shlomit, in order to get along with Seth, you must be willing to compromise. It takes two to make a marriage succeed, you know."

I was telling Nora about these words of wisdom imparted to me by Seth's mother as I had hugged Mom goodbye at the airport. Nora and I had gone for a walk, leaving Sam in charge of the six kids, and now we were having iced tea on her patio.

"It was so funny, Nora! She didn't even realize what she was saying. She was trying to imply that if only I would compromise more, the marriage could succeed. But there was more truth in her actual words - if Seth puts no effort in, the marriage won't succeed, no matter how much I compromise, because it does take two." I laughed.

"Is that what you call it?" Nora asked, casually, poking at her mint leaves with her spoon.

"What?"

"What you do with Seth. You call it 'compromising'?"

"Yeah ..."

"Define compromise."

"You know. When you start off not agreeing, and in the end you do something in between your two positions." Nora was trained as a teacher, and every once in awhile she goes pedagogical on me.

"OK," she put down her glass and proceeded, "tell me about something you've compromised on lately. I don't mean when you, yourself 'compromised' by doing something you didn't want to. I mean where the two of you reached a compromise. A middle ground to which you both agreed, that seemed to best meet your combined needs."

"Well, recently, he's been pretty depressed, so I've just been trying not to set him off. You know that. The past year or so doesn't count."

"And before that?"

"Well, I guess when we agreed to have three children instead of his two or my four ..."

"Yeah, and look how that turned out. He tried to kill you when you were pregnant with that third child. Tell me about a compromise that he didn't back out of."

"Well, the main one was four years into the marriage when he agreed to treat me nicely if I agreed to let him make all the decisions, and to do everything he told me to. We each gave up something that was less important to us, in order to get something that was more important."

"You call that a compromise? To agree to do everything he said and to let him decide everything? So he would be nice?"

"That's what's most important to me. And it's important to him that we do what he wants. So we compromised. Sure, if I had had it all my way, I would like to make my share of the decisions, but I was willing to give in. And if he had had his way, he would have liked to ..." I paused. Not able to find a delicate way to phrase the second half of this if-then structure.

"… be mean to you? Wait a minute. Let's amend our definition of compromise. The two starting positions must each be legitimate. Otherwise, any compromise is just plain wrong. You should never compromise between right and wrong, Shlomit, and if the other person asks you to, there's something seriously wrong with the relationship. If I want to chop off your hand, you don't have to compromise and let me have two and a half fingers. To demand to make all the decisions in a marriage is just plain wrong. For one partner to be mean to the other is wrong.

“The two stated positions must both be such that plenty of perfectly healthy people could function that way and have good marriages. If you want drapes and he wants blinds. If you want to live in the city and he wants to live in the country. If you want pets and he doesn't. If you ... want to throw parties and he wants peace and quiet. One neater and the other more relaxed. These are candidates for compromise.

"No healthy marriage has one partner deciding everything. And to be treated decently is your basic right. It's in your Ketubah, sweetie! You shouldn't have to trade anything for that."

I felt as though I had just given the wrong answer in school.

"Besides. Is he holding up his end? Is he nice to you? Shlomit, when we were walking over here and we passed Seth by the park ... he shot you such a look. It frightened me. I actually shivered and had to look away. Did you even notice? A cold, hateful snarl as we passed him. Are you in the middle of a fight or something?"

I had also shuddered as he beamed me his hate look. "Nothing I know about.”

"I'm sorry," Nora patted my knee. "When you came over here you were so happy and animated after a month of vacation from him. Now I've burst your bubble."

Report from the Swamp

I'm swamped!

Just before I went back to work last spring, Seth said maybe I should stay home for the summer. At that point, we both thought of the summer as a time requiring more parenting effort, because kindergarten lets out.

I had no idea how much work it is to have a child in school! Eli started first grade a month ago. I don't know what they accomplish during school hours, but I seem to do all the teaching, after we all get home. The school just wastes the child's fresh morning energy. At work, over the years, I have listened in to phone conversations where parents at work would go through long division problems or correct spelling or drill biographies of the kings of ancient Israel over the phone.

What's frustrating, is that Eli is supposed to be learning to read using the whole-word method. Wasn’t that discredited in the US in the 60's, when they switched back to phonics? In English you have half a rationale for using whole word - so many words can't be sounded out. But Hebrew is totally phonetic. Jews around the world who don't know what any of the words mean, can read the prayer book and Bible accurately, because they can just sound it out.

I'm not supposed to tell Eli that the letter 'beit' will always sound like "B". He can sometimes read the word "bayit" - house. But "Abba" and "Ima" look the same to him. I just want to say, 'Look - the middle letter of this word is the beit that's at the beginning of "bayit", and it sounds the same. So that's got to be Abba - not Ima.' But they assure us that that would ruin the whole system. Eli and I spend the whole evening just trying to get all the workbook pages done.

Maybe I should cheat and tell him what the letters sound like. Probably all the mothers do, and that's the only reason the system works at all. Or an unsuspecting father, who didn't go to orientation, and doesn't know the rules.

Not much fear of that in this house, of course. Ol' Seth was so gung-ho for me to go back to work, and now he just ignores the fact that I have to squeeze everything into the evening hours. He's like Rafi - doesn't seem to get the drift of what's going on around him.

No Favors

I take that back. Seth does notice that Eli and I are working so tirelessly. Yesterday, he came by while Eli was matching up pictures with the letters that start the word. Eli was doing really well. Seth stood there for a moment and watched. For a second, I dared to hope that he would say something encouraging.

"You're not doing him any favors, Shlomit." Each word a knife edge.

"What do you mean?"

"All the cutsey little games just waste time and baby him. Just tell him to memorize the alphabet, and be done with it." Seth went off to the kitchen with his magazine and closed the door so we wouldn't bother him.

Eli had been so proud of himself. Now his bubble was burst.

"Does Abba think I want to be so stupid?"

I told him again that his mind is just different. More like Einstein's and Edison's. Nobody can have everything, and he's got all the wonderful parts, and all that's missing is the ability to memorize discrete low meaning details easily. Which is alot less important than being able to think and invent and understand and create. "... and to love your family." I added this time.

"The people who lead the interesting lives, and who contribute to human history, weren't the ones who were whizzes at memorizing, in grade school."

How happy do Seth's abilities make him, I wonder?

I'd trade this scientific American for a helpful Israeli

I blew up at Seth two nights ago. He came home, and minutes later poked his head out of the kitchen and called, annoyed, "Where's my Scientific American?"

"Seth, I wish you'd go do something with Leora and Rafi instead of just reading all evening."

"Well, not if you can't ask me nicely!" he pouted.

"Seth, I'm sorry. It would really, really help all of us if you could spend some time with Leora and Rafi when you get home so I can work with Eli."

He grunted and plodded upstairs. A minute later, Leora was standing by the table. "Hi, Leora, what's up?"

"Rafi and I were playing Barbies, and now Abba is reading to Rafi, and I don't have anybody to play with."

Sigh.

"OK, great. You can help us. We need somebody to match up this deck of alphabet cards, and check that there are two of each letter. I think some might be missing ..."

I make all sorts of teaching aids myself, and I've found a great bookstore where the owner points out good materials.

I guess if Seth offered to help me, that would call into question his decision for me to go back to work. It would indicate that there really would have been a rationale for me to stay home a few months longer.

What's in a name

Arithmetic is a disaster. Eli doesn't know the names of the colors, and he has to do arithmetic with Cuisenaire rods. We have spent the past week trying to learn them. I myself have finally managed to memorize which color goes with which digit, but Eli still has trouble. I made colorful cartoons out of the numbers to try to help him. A blue "Arba" (four) looks like Abba. A black Sheva (seven) looks like his kindergarten teacher, Bat Sheva. The poor kid never gives up trying.

Sinking Deeper

I'm swamped. Poor Eli is swamped. Leora and Rafi are neglected. I owe about thirty hours at work. And now Seth is getting angry at me for working on Fridays to make up time.

Eli is great. He wants so badly to learn to read. He has been a book worm since he had hepatitis three years ago and we read away the hours. I wouldn't have believed a six year old - or many adults for that matter - could put forth such sustained effort to learn, when the rewards are so slow in coming.

Plus, when the results of Eli's evaluations came back, there were all sorts of recommendations for extra help. He and Rafi are both in speech therapy. Eli is doing occupational therapy. He has reading sessions at Nitzan, the center for learning disabilities. We go to psychological services once a week for training in more basic learning skills. He has had EKGs and physical checkups. Visits to the neurologist.

Eli misses so much school, being dragged to see these specialists and tutors, and all the therapy. And I miss so much work.

Then we have extra homework to do because he misses so much classwork. I take him out just about every day for something or other, and at school they have Dvora, the remedial teacher, taking him out of class to help him, too.

In the afternoons and evenings, whenever possible, I design games that Leora and Rafi can play, too. Go fish with numbers, letters, words. Rumikub with only the first few digits.

We have one bin just for learning games that can be played on Shabbat.

But many evenings I just ask Leora to take Rafi upstairs and play with him. She's great, but I ache to spend time with them, too.

At some point, it's going to come back to haunt me. Leora and Rafi are neglected. Even Eli – he gets my time, but it’s all just drill drill drill. Luckily, Rafi's day care is wonderful, and Leora and Eli are in a good after-school program this year – Ofra is a former kindergarten teacher who gives them a good dinner and has stimulating activities all afternoon.

Once a month or so Rafi is laid low with those sick headaches he gets. So I’m home with him, but he just sleeps all day so it’s not like really spending time with him. I get caught up on tasks around the house, but it’s another day of getting farther behind on hours and workload at work.

There must be some way I can rearrange things to get more time with the younger children. And with Eli. And at work. I wake up a few hours after I fall asleep at night, trying to replan my days. My parents have an old Laurel and Hardy movie where Stan is trying to put a small table cloth on a large table. He daintily pulls the cloth to cover the edge, and is pleased. Till he notices that the far edge of the table is sticking out. He walks around the table with that Stan Laurel walk, and carefully pulls it to cover the opposite side, then notices the first side is uncovered. He has infinite patience, but the cloth is just too small.

I have thought of waking Eli up an hour early. Get a solid hour of work in when he's fresh. He'll go to bed an hour earlier and I'll have that last hour of the day with Leora and Rafi. Except that Rafi goes to bed early. But he naps at day care - maybe he could stay up later...

Maybe I could come home two hours earlier and work with Eli, and then go back to work from 20:00 till 23:00, after they're in bed.

Hurry up and wait

The really frustrating part of my scheduling problem is that the last two hours of each rushed, impossible, hectic day are empty and slow and boring.

Once the children are in bed at 20:00, after operating at warp speed for fifteen hours, I sit and watch TV with Seth for two solid hours. I hate television. I have hated television since I was a child. But two precious hours of every day are spent staring at whatever Seth is watching, while I daydream about all the things I need to do and would rather do.

Oof!

Brainstorm

"Seth, I think I have an idea."

When I was a kid, we used to spend summers at my grandparents place in the Poconos. It was paradise for us children - swimming under the waterfalls of the ice cold stream, gathering blueberries, planning pranks with our cousins.

One thing we loved to do was to jump off the old rattly toll bridge into the Delaware. It was a long drop, and we learned that, literally, he who hesitates is lost. If you allow yourself a split second to think, once you've climbed over the railing, you'll never jump. There must be one smooth motion. Put the right leg over onto the ledge, and the left leg has to come over and step out onto the air and down you go. Only then worrying about getting your arms down to your sides out of the way of the impact. And filling your lungs in preparation for the long clawing swim to the surface of the oily river.

I used that technique with Seth, last night. Decided that I would just start talking when he opened the door, no matter what he looked like or what he did.

"Seth, if I could do the laundry and the house cleaning in the evenings, during the week, after the children are in bed, I would have more time with them in the afternoon. I could work an extra hour on Fridays and also have the whole afternoon on Friday with the children."

For half a minute Seth just stared at me, shocked. At the fact that I had dared initiate a conversation as much as at the proposal itself, no doubt.

"I'm not going to have you crashing around cleaning every night."

"OK. Just the downstairs, then. I can't do the children's rooms anyway if they're sleeping. Bathrooms ..."

"No. Forget it, Shlomit. The house has to be clean for Shabbat. We’ve always done the cleaning on Friday. It has to be done on Friday."

"But, then I'm cleaning when I could be with them! At least let me go around and straighten up each evening before I come upstairs."

Disgusted look. "What good would that do, Shlomit, to have the house neat while we're sleeping. The time to clean up is in the afternoon while they're making the mess. The weekly cleaning obviously has to be done on Friday. Just work it out."

Vacation

Seth was lucky we had company yesterday and that I didn't have a bludgeon handy.

We were talking with Nora and Sam after lunch, out on the patio. Late autumn is a beautiful time of year to sit outside. Summer here is way too hot. Nora and I were saying that it felt like an American summer day, and we started reminiscing about our vacations.

I was saying that it worked well for us to stagger our trips so the children got a month over there, and Seth and I each only had to use up two weeks of vacation days. (I didn’t mention the other plus – that I got a one-month vacation from him.)

"Oh, I didn’t use any vacation days!" Seth interrupted his arm-waving conversation with Sam, to correct me, scornfully. I looked at him.

"Every day that I'm away from the lab is either conference or travel days or visiting labs or vendors or 'working at home'. I haven't used a vacation day since before we went to Scotland eight years ago." Pleased as punch.

I was glaring at him but he didn’t notice. Thinking of all the vacation days I take when the children are sick, to wait for repair men, to have the car fixed, and now, for the batteries of evaluations Eli has had. I’m always in the red.

"That couldn't be," Sam protested. "The lab doesn't let you accumulate more than sixty days. In eight years you must have way more than that."

"Yup!" Seth leaned back expansively and stretched his legs out in front of him. He's not big on verbal communication, but his body language always speaks right up. "My accumulated vacation days got up to sixty a few years ago, and since then they just fall off the top. Every month my pay stub just lists '60'."

While I'm getting phone calls from payroll every month to remind me how far behind I am in hours and days.

"Then, Seth, you could stay home once in awhile for things, and it wouldn't cost us anything." I pointed out. OK. Would you believe something between 'pointing out' and 'screeching in frustration'.

"What, and break my perfect record!" Seth grinned at Sam who was looking puzzled.

Why am I thinking of a Tennessee Williams play we saw at the summer theater back in college. The cowboy wants to impress the girl, and tells her, "I can go a whole day without passing water!" She asks, "Why would you want to?"

There was plenty I coulda said, but nothing that woulda stood up against the pride he feels in seeing that "60" every month.

He tuned back to his conversation with Sam. Nora shot me a look that said volumes.

Rumors of War

Since July, when the US gave Iraq the fifteenth of January deadline, and we knew that Israel would be a hostage held to Saddam's chest, I've been worried.

Civil Defense is handing out gas masks and listing supplies each family should have ready: bottled water, tape and nylon sheeting to cover windows, emergency food, and don't forget a can opener. Raincoats to wear if they have to evacuate us from a gassed area. Any time you feel nervous you just go out and buy another roll of tape or package of batteries. People are excited and bustling to get ready. There's a sense of commonality with everyone you meet.

But I'm worried. Not about the scuds or the mustard gas. We're doing the prescribed things to prepare for that, and if we get into trouble, Civil Defense will be there to help us.

I'm worried about being cooped up, all of us in one sealed room, with Seth, possibly for hours, if he gets into one of his moods. If he starts hitting and I can't get the children away from him. Whenever people talk about the war, my mental image is of Seth's snarly face and long, strong swinging arms. And crying children with no place to go because the air outside is yellow with mustard gas. We're all preparing for the war. How can I prepare for that? So many new stresses. So many things that could set him off.

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Copyright 2020 by Shlomit Weber

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Email: homeless.home@gmail.com