Darn that Dude

We are, BH in the throes of the rainiest month in Israel. Cue: The Dude

For those of you who don't know what a "Dood Shemesh" is, it's a water tank that heats the water for the whole house from solar energy. For the most part, in a ridiculously hot climate, this is a fine idea. But for the month and a half of not much sun outside, there is not hot water to be had unless you turn it on manually. And for some reason we can't seem to remember to turn on the hot water "dude" in enough time to get us hot water for showers. Or baths. Or washing dishes. And it's really, really annoying.

TPH and I are in the passionate midst of the Dance of the Dude, and it's not romantic. It's kind of like the heat in R; I turn it on, he turns it off. I sneak back upstairs and turn it on, he makes some pretense of going upstairs, and turns it off.

Otherwise, this was a great week for us, BH and I was telling my local SIL that I am feeling good, felling settled. We're still a far way from all the way there, but we'll take each small victory as it comes.

We found and finalized a Gan for N next year, and I am so happy with the teacher and the place. We even recommended it to my SIL and my niece will be joining him next year, too! Then came even better news...A got accepted to the Middle School that he really wanted to get into! We've been worrying and ringing our hands, especially because some classmates got their acceptance letters last week, and some still haven't. But BH, he was smiling ear to ear. It was the first time he actually had to apply to somewhere and have that feeling of "Did I really try my best, because suddenly, these things matter!". I've decided that these are good things for a 6th grade boy to think about. Yes, school counts. Yes, effort matters.

So, between the two schools and the new apartment, we are starting to feel like things are falling into place. Granted we have to actually move into the new apartment, but hey, we're getting there.

Now, if only I could get a hot shower.

Not So Terrible Twos

2 year olds have a bad rap. Call me crazy, but my favorite age is 2. Now, it's true that I am not the oldest parent in the book, and have yet to experience kids of all ages, so my favorite age may very well be 16...but I'm gonna say that 2 might be a safe bet. I'll get back to you on 16. 

I've spent a lot of time with my almost 2 year old this week. He was stuck inside watching videos very patient with me the past few weeks while I've been battling the never ending flu. So, this week I decided enough was enough, and we spent some good "QT" (Quality Time) together at the parks, the merkaz and just walking around and dilly-dallying through our days. 

He has decided that he is too big for the stroller, and for some dumb reason I still take it with me. What ends up happening is me running awkwardly after him pulling an empty stroller behind me, and trying to balance that and him running into the street. With his backpack on. He always needs his backpack. 

So, why do I love the not so terrible 2s? First of all, BH my kids are early speakers, so it's around now that they can finally start to communicate with us and tell us what they actually need as opposed to screaming for hours on end for "no apparent reason."

But to figure out what I really love about the 2s, you have to catch a two year old in action and just watch, and listen. It is this little tiny person coming into his own; discovering the world around him one rock at a time, one puddle at a time, one dirty pigeon at a time. 

As we strolled through the merkaz, my every fiber  silently screams, "Ew! Get out of that puddle! Don't lick that pole! Put down (someone else's) dirty bamba!", but I sucked it up and let him do his thing. He splashed, he ran, he chased birds, he climbed the ladder that was too high. And all through it he was running a dialog with me. 

"Mud? I go mud?"

"No, no mud."

"Ha! I splash mud!" (Mud goes flying, jeans are filthy.)

"I chase bird. Bird fly away, sky. Airplane sky. WOW! Airplane sky! Imma! Imma! Look! I see, I see airplane!" (He runs into street after bird, airplane.)

"I climb steps. One, two, three, four...OW! Boo boo! Abba, you ok?" (looks to make sure Abba didn't slip, too)

"Mayim! I jump mayim?"

"No, let's not go in the water."

"HA! I jumped mayim! Sorry, I sorry. I like mayim." ("jumped" = "sat down directly in deepest, dirtiest puddle)

And with each small step, he is learning more than I could ever describe in words. It's funny, when you are younger and are relishing the joys of your first toddlers, you know that whatever "tricks" they know were learned either from you or your husband. There are no real surprises. But when you have bigger kids and toddlers, the bigger kids are constantly teaching their eager shadows new tricks. 

Today, BAW and N and I were on our way to go look at a Gan for next year. We passed by several big empty covered lots in the merkaz, and he runs up to them and yells in, "Echo! Echo! Echo!" And then he stands and listens until one of us drags him away. Neither one of us taught him that one.

On our way into the Gan (Hebrew speaking only!) I introduced him (in Hebrew) to the teacher. Not really thinking he was listening, I said, "This is N." And he very deliberately stops and pokes his finger at his chest and says indignantly, "NO! Zeh NACHO!" The kid has a preference and wants us to know it. 

It's a lesson. We're all finding our way. We're all testing the puddles waters with our Parent. And sometimes we listen, and sometimes we gleefully don't. But as long as all the while we keep up that never ending dialog, and are always looking over our shoulder with assurance that Someone is there, we'll have the confidence we need to learn from every step of our way. 

Go figure

Just sat down today to make some serious calculations. Calculations of the likes that the last time I gave them any thought was exactly 11 years ago.

Around this time 11 years ago we were anxiously anticipating the birth of our second child. We had been blessed less than a year before with our first born son A, and didn't know if we were having a boy or a girl this time around. We would sit alone (two babies ourselves!) after A was down for the night and wonder, is this a boy or a girl? Will we have two boys who are 10 months apart and best friends, or a boy and a girl to complete our perfect little family? Then we started really thinking...well...if it is a girl, since they will be only 10 months apart, we'll have a BAT mitzva before a BAR mitzva! How weird would that be?!

Actually, pretty weird. And in ACTUALITY, very weird.

Fast forward to 2011. KA"H my "baby" boy is almost 12, and my "baby" girl is 11. (That's another trick you pick up over the years with kids that are 10  months apart. For the overlapping two months we say, "Oh! She's 11, and he's almost 12!" As we nudge him encouragingly with extra perky exclamation points in our voices. I can't tell you how much pre-teen mortification this saves. Or so we tell ourselves.)

So, we sat down to just look at the calendar. I know it's early, but we just figured it would be a safe bet to take a look, primarily because J has been asking me 3x a week what her Bat Mitzva will be, where her Bat Mitzva will be, and most importantly, who will play the music?? OH, and because when you have grandparents who are tax accountants, anything in the April/Pesach time of year needs planning equal to getting a space ship to take off.

Then we realized a small but very important detail. N, of the red infamy will have his upsherin (first hair cut) one week to the day before J's Bat Mitzva. Oh, and A's "Bo Ba'yom" is not only April 15th, but the day after Pesach.

Who says the Ws don't have more fun?? :)

Tiny-tinny-itus

tin·ni·tus

Pronunciation:  /ˈtin-ət-əs, ti-ˈnīt-əs/ 
Function: n 
:  a sensation of noise (as a ringing or roaring) that is caused by abodily condition (as a disturbance of the auditory nerve or wax inthe ear) and typically is of the subjective form which can only beheard by the one affected 


We were sitting at the dinner table...who am I kidding? Let's start again.


It was Hell time. AKA: Dinner. And as some of you know from FB unless N is being babysat by Deigo, Dora, Elmo or Sid, it's a disaster. Tonight I was decidedly stubborn and insisted that he stay and sit with us (WHY? Dummy. That's why.) He single handedly destroys the calm dinner scene I always have in my head by yelling, screaming and throwing things off the table the entire time if things don't go his way. He's spoiled beyond belief, and he's in the full throes of the terrible twos and is, well...terrible.


Tonight I decided that letting him watch DVDs during dinner was dysfunctional (and the ensuing drama was not??) and stuck to my guns. He proceeded to sit next to me and scream in a very high pitch for 15 min. straight while I completely "ignored" him. Why the fit? He had seen me stash my iPhone before dinner and was now screaming for that...another screen. 


He threw his plate, his bottle, and his passy all overboard, screaming all the while, as I pretended not to be the least bit ruffled. Really I was moments from a severe psychotic break. "Disturbance of the auditory nerve", indeed. 


We yelled over him to "PASS THE WATER!!" and "THIS IS GREAT ABBA, THANK YOU!" and even tried, "HOW WAS YOUR DAY????" 


As soon as the other kids could escape, they did. And as they did, he slowly began to wind down. He concentrated on his salad, and was eventually quiet. BAW was mumbling something about needing more than a stiff drink. That's when the ringing in my right ear started: a loud high pitched single constant tone in my ear, while the rest of my ear seemed to be clogged.


BAW assured me that many Rock "greats" suffered from the same affliction, and gave me words of encouragement by saying that Jimi Hendrix only suffered from Tinnitus for TEN YEARS.  Sheesh.

Well, my current predicament at least got me out of bedtime (too bad that baths were last night) since whenever BAW or the big kids would try and talk to me I would either not hear them or would loudly yell, "WHAT??" much to their amusement. 


It's a few hours later, and the ringing has finally  stopped and now my ear is just deadened to all other noises. 


Which may not necessarily be a bad thing.

N Speaks

I'll admit it; I let DVDs be the babysitter. Often. Maybe a little too often because last week, N was dancing and jumping around the living room saying "Prinka! Prinka!" 


According to Diego and Dora (who are my go to experts for my extensive knowledge of Spanish) that means "Jump". And if that wasn't funny enough, at the grocery store he was sitting in the cart while I was browsing the aisles, and he started yelling, "Vamanos, Imma! Vamanos!"


He is gifted in language. I am not bragging or inviting the Ayin Hara, but let's be honest; when our kids are behind we are the first to call it. So, how come it can't be the same when a child is ahead? He isn't my first child who is excelling in language, and he literally stops me in my tracks with things he says sometimes.  


I heard him crying in the other room the other day and I came over and gave him a hug and said, "Oh no! Did you fall down?"


"No, I slipped."


Keep in mind, he is 20 months old, not yet 2 years old. Here's another good one: yesterday on the way back from Ein Gedi, we heard our favorite words from R in the back seat, "I HAVE TO GO TO THE BATHROOM NOW!! I HAVE TO MAKE!!"


We told him to wait, we'd stop as soon as we could pull over. And he just kept whining, "I have to make! I have to make! I have to make!!" Until I finally turned around to tell him to stop, but it wasn't R at all, it was N. He's a parrot, but a funny one. 


He also has an uncanny sense of knowing who is Hebrew speaking and who is English speaking. In the stores he'll yell, "Hi, Mommy!" to random other women (mostly American). But when he sees store employees or other Hebrew speakers he'll yell, "Shalom! Shalom!" Don't ask me how, he just knows. 


Gotta go, I hear "Vamanos, Imma! Let's go park!" Hmmm...there's three languages in there, isn't there?

A very bad day ends well

Today was one of those days. Yup, you've had 'em. The kind of day where you want to run away screaming. Or drink. A lot.


After the morning rush (which actually went pretty well today) I plopped the youngest two down in front of Caillou, and ran upstairs to get dressed. BAW was in the shower. After about 5 minutes it dawned on me that I didn't hear any noise downstairs. When it's too quiet with Little Red on the loose, I don't think, I just panic.


Me: "R! What are you watching?"


R: "Nothing."


Me: "Where's N????"


R: "Outside. Heading down the steps."


FIVE MINUTES they were downstairs folks, maybe less. We live on a VERY busy street, the main one going into our neighborhood from the highway. As I said, I was upstairs getting dressed, which without getting into too much details insinuates various states of undress. I grabbed a bandanna, but had no time for shoes as I flew down the steps. I swooped down on him (in only a diaper of course) just in time. I won't even mention the group of work men with their dirty looks at the undressed woman who can't keep an eye on her own baby.


And that's how this wonderful day started. He came upstairs and sat on my bed with me while I had a near heart attack. It took 10 minutes for my heart to stop pounding and my breathing to be normal again.


When I could breathe again, we got dressed and headed out to the park.  Once there,  N always goes on his merry way, climbing to the highest room in the tallest tower. And instead of saving the princess, he dances around just out of my reach, dangling his feet over the edge, swinging off a one story high drop, yelling, "Imma! Look!", until again, I get the eyeball rolls of "What is wrong with this mother? Why doesn't she control her kid?"


When he does finally emerge from the slide he always, always comes right over and pokes me with one finger while saying "EEP". He is not autistic (at least not that I've decided yet), he is merely giving me a shock from the static of the slide. Every. Single. Time.


Then came The Incident with the Disgusting Cat at the Park. In a desperate attempt to seem "normal" (and not mildly child abusive) I try to make small talk with the other mothers in the park. For them, it's easy. Their cute babies play at their feet while drinking bottles, or munching crackers. Mine looks more like this:

But without the safety pulley and rope, mind you.


After talking to another mother for I dunno, 23 seconds, I neurotically look over at N, and behold, he is sitting on the ground with a HUGE stray male FILTHY cat draped all over him!! Now, ya'll know me: I like animals. I actually LOVE animals. But first of all, I hate cats. And there are few things I hate more than dirty Israeli cats, so imagine my delight when I find this:

After ten minutes of the cat laying on him, him laying on the cat, him trying to be a cat, I dragged him home and washed him up, really good. Then came my favorite time of day: NAP TIME!!


Except, nap time is only fun when you can find the passy and the child actually naps. It is NOT fun when, say, the passy is lost, the child climbs in and out of the crib, and the mother suddenly out of the blue has an inexplicable backache unlike any she has ever experienced. It was such intense pain, and so out of the blue, I can only attribute it either to stress or, running through the streets at 7:45am hardly dressed, and grabbing up a 25 lb toddler and hauling him all the way back up two flights of stairs. Hmmmm... we may never know the real cause.


So, there we were, him not napping, me not being able to move. Let me tell you, it was not pretty. He always starts off by "washing the dishes." Translated to: spilling water over any and all surfaces in the kitchen including (but not limited to) counters, bread on counters, stove top, igniter flames, and floor. Then, he gets down off his step ladder, and slips on the floor and cries. This is just what happens. We have it down to a science by now.


And then comes The Phone Call. Dummy that I am, I actually answer it. "Hi, this is the secretary of AY boys' school. Please hold for the principal." Oh Shoot.


"Hi Mrs. W. Is it possible that your first grader "S" is allergic to rabbits?"
"Um, yes. I guess so." Scintillating conversationalist that I am in Hebrew.
"Well, he isn't breathing very well. It could be something. It could be nothing. But we do have rabbits visiting for today. Also, his face is swelling. Kind of quickly. Maybe you should come pick him up."


BAW was there in about 3 minutes flat. While I lay on my back, also flat. And yes, it looks like he does have a pretty severe rabbit allergy. After a quick stop to the pediatrician who assured us he'll be just fine, we now have an appointment with a pediatric allergist for some more extensive allergy testing.


Since it's Tuesday, and my favorite day of the week, school was out early, so everyone walked in at just about the same time. Thankfully, BAW had managed to score some more passys in the midst of all the chaos. Don't worry! I was helpful too! Someone has to hold a place on the couch.


At this point, I was in so much pain, I was crying, and had no way to get any relief. That's when the kids got home, needing lunch. Oh, and I forgot. J had 2 friends come over straight from school, and B had one.


That put N's nap off forever as the girls needed the room. The rest of the afternoon was uneventful, and there's not much to report, except a trashed house, busy kids and a very bad backache. I did get a hot bath, but it helped almost not at all.


Hungry kids, broken mother, working father, R's Chanuka party at 5pm, big party here tomorrow with family = Crying mother.


Then came a strange turn around. Just yesterday I was asked to say daily perakim (chapters) of Tehilim for a very sick infant in the neighborhood. Since I was sitting around anyway, and it was getting close to shkiya, I sat and was able to have some real kavana. I davened that the girl should merit a refuah shlaima along with all the other cholim of Am Yisrael. It took me no more than ten minutes to say, and an amazing thing happened. My back ache was almost gone!!! 


I believe! (Please say this with a heavy Southern preacher's accent.)


And just in time for me to jump up and get R dressed for his party (5pm? No other kids from the family invited? Are you kidding me?), and run right over there. It was nice to be just me and him and we really had a great time at a beautiful party! On the way home, I noticed, no back ache! Really! It was truly amazing!


An even better end to The Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day was that a friend who is visiting from the US left me a message while I was out and is going to stop by in a bit and say hello. Oh, and I even got my dough for chanuka cookies up and in the fridge.


Our time is too short, and this post is too long, but one final thought. What's amazing to me is the ups and downs we can have in a day. I am going to remind myself that no matter how bad the "downs" the "ups" always follow.


Even in Australia.

Crazy American

Ha! I love it! I just got my first "Crazy American" eye roll!

Was at the park doing the morning "let's run down this baby so he sleeps well" trick, when a native Israeli mother went out of her way to come over to me to give me a piece of her mind. "Isn't he cold in shorts? He must be freezing!!" I was a little embarrassed, and sheepishly said, "No, I think he's ok." Collective eyeball roll of the other mothers around me. I looked around and it dawned on me that most kids were in corduroy pants, long sleeves, and a couple even in sweaters.

On my way home I was feeling a little insecure, so I checked my phone for the weather. 79 degrees.

Um, yeah. We're good. Thanks.

A Day in the Life

I have kids. I have a lot of kids. I am a teacher. I am the oldest of ten. I was the counselor, head counselor, all around kid person. It has not prepared me for life with N at 15 months old. Until recently he'd been by the saintly babysitter/second mother of his, but now he's home and havoc 'awreaking...

Here is a list of a typical day in the life of N:

Dumps ajax into toilet. Sloshes around ajax with toilet brush regardless of what "else" might be in toilet. Dumps bleach encrusted toilet brush on floor with LOTS of water and "else". Slips on wet floor and bumps head. Cries Loudly.

Finds ridiculously dangerous stick. Makes light saber noises and wields. Pokes self in eye. Cries Loudly. Gets put in high chair so parental units can have a break. Throws all food on floor, yells, screams, cries loudly, "OUT!".

Gets put in bed for another atempt at a nap. Bangs around, kisses each bar on crib. Yells, eventually Cries Loudly. Suckers Parents take out of crib.

Bottle of milk for exactly 3 minutes of respite for parents. Sits on couch with guilty mother and makes animal noises from book. Gets mad, hits mother, cries loudly. Mother cries quietly.

While mother is crying, goes into laundry room and dumps all of dog food into dog water bowl. Eats undetermined amount of this mixture. Slips and falls on wet floor. Cries Loudly.

While mother is cleaning up dog food mess, goes into pantry and dumps out 3 lb box of elbow noodles. There are a lot of elbows in 3 lbs.

Gets thrown in car by father to get out of house for shopping trip to WalMart. Yells most of the time for things he cannot have. At checkout pushes buttons on Credit Card swiper and father pushes him out of arms reach. Gets mad, no, furious, hits scared cashier.

At home exhausted parents unload car. Once inside, he is no where to be found. Eventually there are noises heard coming from basement. Gleeful and excited for the first time all day, at having done something "fun". When parents again not looking, climbs upstairs. Is found several minutes later in TOP bunk. Yelling happily.

Just another typical day in the life...and y'all wonder why we do bedtime at 6pm??