If we want our kids to honor us, they must first see us honor our parents

Visiting my mother is vital to me, a treat I try to plan with regularity. So when Israeli skies reopened this past winter, I booked a ticket ASAP, determined to squeeze in a visit before they closed again. Yet it’s always a balancing act when I go — because while I’m getting some essential Mommy-time, my kids are trying to manage without theirs.
Invariably, despite my planning, my careful arrangements are thrown off when someone gets sick. I once had four kids home across the Atlantic sick with strep. Trust me, it wasn’t a happy situation. This past time, both Shloime’s afternoon teachers got sick with Covid, leaving him home in the afternoons, which completely knocked things off kilter.
Before I leave, I take each of my children aside and thank them personally for allowing me to make this trip, adding that they share my sechar for this mitzvah of kibbud eim.
The Shabbos after I got back, my girls arranged a Shabbos away for all of us. The excuse was a combined birthday-anniversary package, but the real purpose was pampering their parents. They found a large house in a nearby moshav, right next door to a petting zoo, sending the junior males into ecstasy.
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