I know I sound like I've been a bit obsessed with getting old lately, but here's yet another proof: All day I've been wandering around thinking of ten different things I've been wanting to write about. All day I've been staring longingly at my laptop as it broadcasts hours and hours of Diego, all the while winking at me mockingly, just out of reach.
And now, finally it's quiet, laptop is in hand (or on lap rather) and I can't remember a DARN thing I wanted to write about! Aargh Blargh!! as we say here in W-land.
I guess one thing I've been thinking a lot about lately is how sometimes I feel like I am an excellent mother; I have it all together, I know my kids well and can reach each of them on their own level in ways to help them grow as people, as Jews and as mentchen. Sometimes.
The other 97% of the time I have started to feel totally clueless. As in, I have NO stinking IDEA what I'm doing. Sometimes I'll post an exasperated post on FB partially to kvetch, partially to get advice, but mostly to just get some much needed sympathy.
Today's post of "Once again feeling like I need parenting lessons" had a bunch of great mothers contributing. Some very seriously, some lending a much needed laugh, but all in it together. That's exactly what I love about FaceBook. (It's networking...socially...ah! I get it!)
And together we reached a very clear understanding: this is really how it's supposed to be. As soon as we feel too much in control or want to give ourselves a big pat on the back (and we should!), we get small loving reminders that yes, we are doing a fantastic job, but we still need the Big Guy's help, and we shouldn't ever stop looking or asking for it.
So thanks to my FB friends for making me laugh and helping me realize that I'm not incompetent or crazy, or G-d forbid old. Well, maybe a little. Now seriously, what was it I was supposed to be writing about anyway?
Here I sit on Motzei Shabbos with the dishes piled high in the sink, the floors dirty and the living room/dining room trashed. I would also take a good guess that there are no clean uniform shirts for tomorrow. And, what am I doing? I've just been thrown yet another last minute book report to be typed up, you know the, Right-away-please-Imma!-It-was-due-last-week-and-if-I-don't-get-it-in-tomorrow-it-won't-get-into-the-yearbook type of report.
I'm a pretty mean mother when it comes to missing your deadlines. I'm usually the one yelling, "Well, it's totally your own fault, either type it yourself or get a bad grade!" But since we moved here and everything has to be typed in Hebrew, I have been a lot more merciful.
Probably because:
a. When I sit here and try to type these things up I feel like I have an extremely severe learning disability. This may sound harsh, but those of you who have had to type anything significant in Hebrew know exactly what I mean. I type a mean 120 wpm regularly, and this is just painful. Poke, poke, pluck, pluck. I think it would put my kids over the edge.
b. Roughly 2/3 of the convenient little Hebrew stickers on my keyboard have been carefully peeled off by a small person with red hair who likes to yell. A lot. "No like it stickers."
c. When I sit hunched over my laptop working hard at this task, I look so angry busy as I mutter under my breath that most people large and small leave me alone. I get some peace and quiet.
d. I'm so incredibly proud of my kids coming this far; for G sakes, they can write a report in Hebrew, without help! The least I can do is spend a couple hours plucking out a half a page.
Let's just hope there aren't any "ט"s. That tet has to be the most elusive letter in the Hebrew alphabet.
Warning: Bragging Post (Ayin Hara not welcome here)
You've been warned: it's a bragging post from one proud Momma. First off, I do have to admit that the whole story will be peppered with "Immigrant Parent" moments. And you'll be sure to spot them.
So, daughter J came home from school today eager to share her good news. She took some kind of statewide? neighborhood wide? (not really sure as to the details, I'm just an "IP") standardized test a few days ago, based mostly on math and logic questions. An official woman was there administering the test, and when J went to hand hers in, the woman told her that since she is an Olah Chadasha (bottom of the food chain new immigrant), they would not be able to "count" her test.
I had heard none of this until today. Today the same government official? ("IP") showed up to hand back the tests. 5 girls in 5th grade in each school will go on to take a higher level test against other 5th graders nationwide. And the girl with the highest 5th grade score? None other than my immigrant daughter, thank you very much. Ha!
I'd take a guess to say they are counting that test now...
In our house lately, the morning scene goes something like this:
6:35am Alarm goes off. I press "snooze".
6:45am Alarm goes off. I press "snooze". Somewhere in the house Things 4 and 5 start to stir (or, alternately, they have been up since 5:30am and every piece of Playmobil, Lego and Clicks that I own are on the floor of their bedroom).
6:55am Alarm goes off, and although I press "snooze", I am now slightly alive and have managed to wipe the drool off my face.
7:05am Alarm goes off, I peel myself out of bed and start to wake up older kids. Which, incidentally, if you have older kids, you realize that this task may just be harder than moving mountains.
They slowly trickle into my room making Night of the Living Dead look good. Scratchy voices, bedraggled bed heads, it truly is pathetic.
"OY! My head! It's killing! A Mirgraine! OW!"
"My throat! It's killing! I can't move!"
"I'm so tired!" (tears) "Why can't you understand how tired I am?"
Or the ones that just lie forlornly on my bed, too sick/tired/overall nebach to even make a case for themselves.
And most days I don't buy it. Because on those days that I do, like today for example, we witness true miracles right here in Nachal Tzeilim in Ramat Beit Shemesh.
It's called the 8:00am Miracle. After those children who have lost the "Can I Please Stay Home" fight, are bundled off and leave the house, the door barely closes, and those who have been slyly victorious are suddenly, miraculously, without any real explanation...CURED!! It's a MIRACLE! HALLELU-A!
When I am closing in on almost a week between blog posts, it's a real push to get out here and write. For some reason the more time passes between posts, the more I just want to curl up in a ball and never head over to Nekuda Tova at all. I don't know why, that's just how it works.
Let's see...
The kids got their first report cards last week, and I have to admit that I was in tears. HAPPY tears :) The notes that the teachers write to each and every kid are so personal and sweet. The lowest grade out of four kids was a B! Two of them were graded on special dispensation for immigrants, but two were tested at the same level as everyone else in their grade. I couldn't believe it! I was soo proud! We quickly awarded everyone with a pizza "party" on Sunday night, and the feeling around these parts has been all around fantastic.
I am still fighting the last of that dang flu, which I've been told is normal. I'm just not the same since it hit almost three weeks ago; a lingering cough, no energy and just general blah-ness. It is too, a word.
We are very excited about our upcoming move (I don't think I've ever said those words before!), but the showing of this house has turned out to be really annoying. I know it's not our house, and BAW keeps telling me, "Stop worrying about cleaning up!", but you women know what I mean: I still have SOME self respect!! So, day in and day out strangers (and some not) traipse through our front door while we sit quietly and unobtrusively on the couch trying to stay out of their way. We really don't have to say yes to all the intrusion, but the quicker they find a buyer, the faster we can get out of here. On the plus side, my house has been remarkably clean this week. Our beds are even made. Can you believe that?!
I have started researching Gan for N for next year, and have our first visit to one tomorrow. All I can think of is, IS ANYONE CAPABLE OF WATCHING HIM???
And in other news, just a couple miles South of here a little country you might of heard of called Egypt is falling to pieces.
So, that's about it in W news for now...
Argh. Today I am tired. Tired and cranky. Overworked and underpaid. Overwhelmed and under...oh, whatever, you get the idea.
Had a great morning at Machane Yehuda seeing the sights and sounds in Jerusalem. But it's true: When you play, you pay.
When we got home, N was up, R was home from Gan, and shortly after, the rest of the progeny walked through the door. Before I go on, I have to say how much I am getting used to not working. Please don't tell BAW.
Unemployed? Retired? Lazy? Not sure what category this not working business goes under, but it's nice. Very nice. My quiet time when N naps is usually almost 3 hours in which I can choose to straighten up, do some laundry, clean some bedrooms, have computer time or take a nap. And I missed that today. And now I am cranky.
It didn't help when S walked in the door covered in dirt from head to toe. ("Imma! This looks like poop, I know. But it's not.") Or when J came in and declared she lost her only bathing suit at swimming class today, but of course it's not her fault. (It never is, is it?) Amidst this, A ambles in and asks if he can make an apple crisp. (Because 11 yr. old boys immediately sniff out dinner upon entering the house, and obviously left overs can't be eaten without apple crisp.) But then came the straw. You know what straw I mean.
B comes barging in and yells that "We have to make cookies for the birthday party tomorrow!"
Me: "What birthday party? Whose birthday party?"
B: "MINE!"
Me: "But your birthday is not until next week."
B: "But my teacher said we are having the party tomorrow! And all the cookies have to be baked at home! By us!"
Ugh. I am now sitting on the couch. Dinner is done, baths have been given, and 4/6 are off to the Land of Nod. There are no cookies baking in the oven, and I am wishing EEC would make my kids some cookies late at night (Garfield or not, it doesn't really matter) and send 'em on over. I have a parent teacher meeting for R in 1/2 an hour. My throat hurts.
Ok, no more whining. There are cookies to bake.
As I am tending towards the trend of slowly moving off FB, I've been posting a lot more, so take it or leave it, but you've been warned.
It's almost Shabbos in the Holy Land; the food is in the oven, the desserts are (finally!) finished, and the floor is clean (for 30 seconds or less, no doubt).
I had another funny moment with B today, when he joined me in the kitchen for some Shabbos cooking. He wanted to know how I "got so good" at peeling potatoes, and I told him I was helping Bubby since I was about his age. His eyes lit up and he said, "So does that mean if I start helping you now I'll be as good as you when I'm an adult?" We all have to have aspirations, you know.
He peeled and cut zucchini for zucchini muffins and asked how to grate them. I pulled out my hand grater and showed him how it's done, cautioning him about not getting too close, "because you can grate your fingers." His first question? "How does grated finger taste?"
Hmm. Hope we don't find out.
Shabbat Shalom, hey!
"R!"
"R! It's time to get dressed."
"R!! Please answer me when I'm talking to you!"
"My name is not R. My name is Black Chest."
?!
"Black Chest? Why Black Chest?"
"You know, like a pirate."
"You mean, like Black Beard?"
"Exactly, but I don't have a beard, so I'm Black Chest."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Or later the same day, on a walk with B to the merkaz he says to me, "I'm having a vision."
Startled, I reply, "Wow, a vision of what exactly?"
"You know, where you divide one number by another: A Vision."
Along the same lines last week he came home from school and told me his test was on "Divination".
"WHAT?"
"You know, multiplication, divination."
And so begins the long slow dance of forgetting our English...
"Well, since I wasn't born in America, I couldn't be the President there, but here I come: President of Israel!"
"A dentist came to school today and looked in my mouth and said 'yafeh' ('Nice'). I haven't brushed my teeth since last shabbos."
"Some Hebrew speaking kids think I am clueless. So, I just walk up to them and start speaking another language."
"I LOVE being in a big school! There are soo many kids! Too many kids, but that just means SO many kids." ?
"This hero needs to use the bathroom!"
It's amazing when I take a few minutes out to spend time with each kid one on one, and I find out what they really have to say. These random gems all came from one of my favorite little guys on a walk home tonight from the merkaz.
It's a beautiful night tonight, and I am proud to report that today, November 22, 2010 two very monumental things happened at Casa W.
1: We went an entire 24 hour period with not ONE air conditioning unit on!! GO US!!
2: My 2 middle guys informed me that they are some of the last standing kids in school in shorts, and they actually might just start wearing pants as of tomorrow.
We've been busy over here; Middle School applications for A, which comes along with researching the different options, parent meetings, etc. Birthday party for S, getting ready for the arrival of Uncle S and Aunt P.
Oh, and the frequent buying and consumption of sufganiyot. How is buying jelly or caramel filled donuts all that time consuming you'd like to know? Well, I figure there are only 12-14 hours in the day that the offspring are awake. Roughly 6 of those hours are spent with them nagging me to give them money to buy these seasonal donuts. Another hour or so goes into them walking up to the stores and perusing the bakeries until they find the ones that are "just right". Actual consumption time: 43 seconds.
So, yes, we've been busy. At least we'll have an Israeli President who doesn't brush his teeth to show for it.
Warning: May Contain Bathroom Humor
Lately, try as I may, I can't seem to get the Big "P" smell out of my bathrooms. I wash, scrub, disinfect. And yet it lingers. I am transported to my 16 year old self who could never, EVER find a bathroom in the house that did not smell like the Big "P". My mother is a cleaner, and I have inherited the gene, so don't think otherwise. It's a male thing. With 6 brothers in the house growing up, and now 5 of my own sons, it's time to reflect on being a Mother of Boys.
We are a tough bunch us MoBs. Although I do have a daughter, I still consider myself one of this group as our numbers are a 5:1 ratio, leaning heavily towards boys. I love boys. I have been surrounded by them since I was young, and am not scared of this magnificent breed. And yet, they are mysterious creatures these little men.
Take for example the morning cry of "Pee-Pee 'X'" that I hear almost daily from my early morning slumber. Have no idea what I am talking about? Ah, you are not a MoBs. My younger kids (thankfully, yes, I would be worried if it were the bigger ones) race to the bathroom every day, and when they get there at the same time, that doesn't stop them my friends. It's just an excuse for the morning's Pee-Pee X, wherein they will use the bathroom at the same time, and yes, make an "X" as they simultaneously aim into the toilet.
There is also the needing to go to the bathroom once we have gotten into the tub. Most of my young gentlemen will get out and use the toilet, and then renter the tub. Some will not. And then there are the ones that will stand up in the tub, and aim in the general direction of the toilet. Hit or Miss.
Sorry MoGs, but you didn't know what were missing, did you?
There are also the constant pile ups. Usually in good fun, this entails a large pile of boys on the living room floor. There is much yelling and screaming, grunting and squawking. Mostly there is no blood. I am a big proponent of Boys Should be Boys. There is actually an awesome book out there with the same title by a child psychologist named Meg Meeker, MD that should be required reading for any MoBs. Check it out. Because of this philosophy I let them have their nerf guns, swords, playmobil knights, bows and arrows, BB guns,etc.
To their credit, it should also be noted that boys are not just disgusting and violent (Ok, mostly they are). Boys are also the ones that love their Mommas to the end. They are the ones that hold our hands, tell us that they want to marry us, that they will never leave us (wait, can you please sign here that you actually said that?). They are the ones who will become men under our noses, Bnei Mitzva, Bnei Torah, the ones who will carry on the family name, and have little Ws of their own one day. As our girls, our boys will (and do!) make us tremendously proud.
My mother always tells the story of one of my brothers who at the time was innocently eating a piece of toast, when out of the blue he bit it into the shape of a gun and started shooting. At the time we had no TV, and he had no point of reference.
Point is, boys like to shoot. And maybe bathroom time is just another target practice.
