“I’m not going out there,” Jeff declared, settled in the club chair in our bedroom. Outside our door we heard a crash, followed by raucous laughter erupting from several grandsons busy playing football in the hallway. I hoped the crash didn’t involve the tall ceramic vase filled with dried flowers that I had forgotten to remove from the fireplace. Fortunately, I had whisked away the oversized glass candlesticks that are usually nestled next to the vase. With our grandchildren frequent visitors, all I seem to do is move these pretty décor items from living room to our bedroom and back again.
Who could blame my husband for putting himself in “time out”? I’d been there, too. Don’t get me wrong: We are hopelessly, deeply, and deliriously in love with our children’s children. Each is a fabulous gem, with a distinctive character and winsome charms. But after long visits, “delirious” becomes the operative word. This past Sukkot, blessed by a growing bounty of gems, we bought a larger sukkah to accommodate having three of our four kids and their families with us. Two of the families live out of state and stayed with us for one week or more, swelling our normal household census from two to 12: six adults and six kids ages eight and under (mostly way under). It was Pack ‘n Play and futon city, with the family folded into quarters tighter than on a submarine.
I was armed with masses of squeezable applesauce packets and Teddy Bear graham crackers for the kids and Xanax for Jeff and me. Like on the reality show “Survivor,” only the strongest among the tribe would last to tell the story.
Despite having planned for this visit for weeks, cooking and freezing soups, meats and desserts, very young children need to eat around the clock, so I rarely left the kitchen. When I did, I usually carried a broom in one hand and sported a thick red oven mitt on the other — American Gothic, Jewish Nana edition. It’s amazing how much food kids drop, spill, or in some cases, throw on the floor just for the thrill of it. When our local son and his family of seven joined us for a few of the holiday meals, we were 19 in all. The atmosphere felt “extremely loud and dangerously close,” borrowing the name of a famous book. I don’t know how industrial-sized families do this all the time.
It was all hands on deck, with frequent shouts of “No biting/hitting/grabbing/screaming/taking candy without permission!” Sometimes we had to reprimand the kids as well.
Despite all the work and occasionally shattered nerves, our gems delivered precious gifts. The youngest are the most demanding but also the most hilarious. One night, standing on the kitchen bench, our three-year-old granddaughter gave an impassioned speech declaring that when she’s a mommy, she won’t allow her “kinderlach” to go around coloring on themselves. She lectured as her own left leg was a tidal wave of orange, blue, green, and purple marker. Her hair was also shorter than it had been at lunch, due to an unauthorized haircut with a preschool scissors courtesy of her 4-year-old brother. The result? Uneven but trendy.
Despite all the work and occasionally shattered nerves, our gems delivered precious gifts.
The little ones also practically leap into our arms, sidle over to sit on our laps, and reach up to take our hands on the way to shul. That makes up for a lot of spilled milk and cereal on the floor — even a tantrum or two. The older kids become essential helpers. Our eight-year-old grandson read with dramatic flair to five younger siblings and cousins on the couch. Our eldest granddaughters, 10 and 12, deftly mediate toddler arguments, organize games for the little ones, and supervise action on the trampoline. This is one way that having larger families nurtures a sense of responsibility and caring among children.
When we were raising our four children we could never have imagined how this little tribe would grow. We’re incredibly proud of our kids doing the hard work every day of raising their own and building the Jewish future.
We can’t wait to see our out-of-state kids and grandkids again, but I’m still in recovery mode here. Next time, maybe I’ll leave my vases on the fireplace and we’ll go to them.
Judy Gruen is the author of “Bylines and Blessings,” “The Skeptic and the Rabbi,” and several other books. She is also a book editor and writing coach.
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