Goodbye and Farewell

This week has become a series of good-byes, from some of her teachers and her after-school activities, and one of our goldfish. Although she understands that the Summer vacation does eventually come to an end and she will return to her routine, I have witnessed lots of emotion and hugs.

Raphaela has a hard time with endings and separation.

I am going to add in one more farewell, and that is the retirement of this blog.

When I started this blog, I thought I could add something to the discussion, about fertility treatments, about pregnancy, about single motherhood and its place in a modern Jewish community.

When I started this blog, I also didn't quite realize that the internet never forgets, and that the world wide web gets everywhere on the globe.  As much as I may have contributed, I have probably also offended people without meaning to.  And for that I apologize.

There is another factor that has most recently become more relevant:  Raphaela has finished First Grade and is reading in two different languages. It will not be long before she can sit in front of the computer and find this blog and read it, all by herself.  For the most part, she will see how much I love her, how beautiful she is, inside and out, and how blessed I feel for having taken the step of becoming a single mother by choice.

There will also be posts that she will read about how hard it is to parent, alone or otherwise, and how not all of my days have been my finest of days.

I think I need to respect her privacy as a fully formed person, and I think that now is a good time to close this chapter.  I want to thank everyone who read until now, and I do hope that something I said helped you.

I will be keeping this blog open now and again, for future postings of photographs, but from now on, mine and Raphaela's life will stay behind closed doors, and closed computers.

======================================================================

I end with one last story:  When we were driving home from school the other day, I reminded Raphaela that once Summer vacation begins, we will be going away for a small trip, in honor of my birthday.

How old will you be, Mommy?

25.

Wow, that's old!

Sorry, just joking, actually I will be 48 in July.

WOW, that's really old!

Money Matters

Yesterday Raphaela had a day off from school; yes, yet another Jewish holiday in the series for the month of May.  We met up with cousins in the morning for breakfast, and then took advantage of International Free Museum Day.

For whatever reason, Raphaela seemed fixated on the topic of money and personal finances the entire day.

As we waited for the bus, Raphaela asked me what kind of grand celebration I had received when I turned 12.  I told her that when I was that age, no one made a big deal about girls, and other than a pretty standard birthday party in our backyard, the event came and went.  She seemed shocked and sad for me, because, she explained, I didn't get loads of presents.  Then she said, "Don't worry Mommy, when I have my Bat Mitzvah you can make me a fantastic party, and give me lots of presents."

When I took out coins to pay for the bus, Raphaela asked me where money comes from, and how did I (personally) have money to spend. I explained to her that I work very hard, and that I get paid for helping people feel better, and then I have money to take care of us.  Raphaela, proud of herself and her future earning capacity, told me that when she gets older she is going to be a Veterinarian.

"That's wonderful, " I said, "but right now you are a little girl who doesn't work. Your work is to go to school and learn great things, play with your friends and do your homework.  And you are too young to baby sit."  Then I explained the concept of an allowance, that if she does her specific jobs around the house all week, she will earn money, and she can then spend on herself or save toward something bigger.

Raphaela loved that idea, and starting next week, we have a chore chart.

When we met our cousins, my very Israeli daughter asked them how much money they make and basically, what is their net worth.  With a nervous giggle, I stopped Raphaela and explained to her that the question was not polite, and that it is really none of our business how much anyone else earns, or where they spend it.

Another life lesson for her to check off the list.

Mirror Mirror

My mother had me at the age of 21, I don't know if she was ready to be a parent, but that's just what people did then.  My mother had her last child at the same age that I had my first and only daughter.

Some days I wake up and I feel like a grown up:  I have a responsible job where I help people feel healthy, I am in charge of my life and the social secretary for my daughter, I do volunteer work and generally, I am seen as a competent adult.  Other days I look at myself in the mirror and think, "Who is that? How did I get here?"

Raphaela has three birthday parties this week, and that of course started the massive communication among parents for car pooling.  I had agreed to take Raphaela and one of her close friends, and along the way I picked up two other girls from the class.  My car was full of gorgeous chattering first graders, one of whom belonged to me.

One of the girls in the car told me that when I send pizza for Raphaela's lunch, she and other kids in the class get jealous.  Another girl in the car said that I was a "Cool Mom" and that Raphaela was lucky to have me.

Seriously, when did I become that person trusted by other parents to drive their children?  When did I renew my expertise in hair accessories and sticker trading and Barbie?  When did my nerdy interests become cool for the next generation?

I once asked a friend if I "looked like a mother," and she said that I look like the right age and station in life to be a parent, without looking "old."  My friend also said that I seem like the kind of person who should have had more than one.

And yet some days, I feel like I need someone else to be the adult, or at the very least, I need a personal assistant.

Purim 2016

When I was single, Purim held little appeal for me, though I did try to wear a creative costume each year.  When you have children, in Israel, the holiday of Purim (officially one day long) lasts close to two weeks, and the joy and anticipation of the kids is infectious.

On the first day of the month, the school had a Purim Opening Ceremony. There was Pajamas Day and No-Homework Day, and You-Don't-Have-To-Wear-A-School-Uniform Day.  In past years in nursery and kindergarten, the menu included Clown Day, Silly Hat Day, Kings and Queens Day, and the like.

Today, however, the Purim Carnival and Costume Festival takes place.  Raphaela woke up at 5:30 am out of pure excitement.

It is a half day of school with the promise of no academic activity whatsoever.  Pizza for breakfast, and a roaming popcorn stand!  Among their classmates, the exchanging of Mishloach Manot, traditional Purim junk food gift baskets.

To top it all off, this afternoon Raphaela and a friend of hers will be hosting a six and a half birthday party. Both girls were born at the beginning of the school year during the Jewish holidays, and did not have a private party because it was school vacation and the start of the school year, when the girls didn't really know each other and hadn't coalesced as a group.

Raphaela, of course, chose to dress up as Queen Elsa from Frozen, despite my protestations that it was one of the least original costumes out there.  She carefully put on her gown this morning, her crown, some eye shadow, an Elsa ring and an Anna bracelet.  Raphaela was bedecked and bejeweled.

When I suggested some faux sparkly earrings as well, she scowled at me, horrified at my apparent lack of fashion sense, and said, "Really Mommy, it is too much. That's over the top!"

Needless to say, the halls of a Raphaela's school felt like a Disney princess convention.

Last night I attended the 50th birthday party of my cousin; it was very much a grown-up affair, with a museum tour and a lecture from Moshe Arens, a beloved (retired) Israeli MK.  As much as I enjoyed the intellectual stimulation, let me say that when I turn 50 in a few years, there will be alcohol, and most probably and beach and BBQ involved.

Raphaela stayed home with a baby sitter, and this morning when she woke up, I saw that her very talented sitter Alexis had made my daughter a beautiful French braid, a skill set that I lack.

Mom:  Wow, your hair is beautiful!  Alexis is the coolest.
RR:  Mommy, you're still cooler.
Mom:  (blushing slightly) How's that?
RR:  Because there are lots of things that you know how to do.

Oh Unto Us a Child is Born

Happy sixth birthday my beautiful girl.  May you be blessed in all that you are, may you always experience health and joy and love, and I can't wait to see how you change the world.

Let the festivities begin with her Hebrew birthday, continuing into next week with her English birthday; the more celebration of life and its wonderment, the better.

Good Vibrations

This morning while walking to school, a middle-aged Russian woman gave Raphaela and me a huge smile.  She proceeded to come over to Raphaela and hug her and kiss her on the head, exclaiming what a grown-up beautiful girl she is, and blessing her for the new year.

I have no idea who this woman is, but thank you. (I hasten to add that this would only happen in Israel.)

Later in the morning while I was doing local errands before work, a random elderly gentleman asked me why my "little girl" wasn't with me.  I explained that she had started first grade and was in fact in school.  "Oh my," exclaimed the man, "I remember her when she was just a baby!" And he too proceeded to heap wonderful blessings upon my daughter.

Raphaela has her Hebrew birthday on Sunday, and she has been announcing it to the world.  Apparently the Universe is joining the celebrations, and sending all these angels to add to joy of the day and the event.

Jurassic Park, Jerusalem Style

Every once in a while, Raphaela goes into a panic about volcanoes.  Where are they located in the world, does anyone we know live near an active volcano, how could we stop lava flow, etc.

This morning she woke up quite concerned about volcanoes, and we had the following conversation:

RR:  Mommy, are there any volcanoes in Israel? I really don't like lava.
Mommy:  As far as I know, there are none, though the Fertile Crescent sits on a major fault-line.
RR:  What?!
Mommy:  Never mind.
RR:  Mommy, does anyone in our family live near an active volcano?
Mommy:  No, the active volcanoes are in South America, not North America.
RR:  But Mommy, what about my Bat Mitzvah trip?
[We have already decided that for her 12th birthday we will be going on a real safari in Africa. I have already started saving up for this trip. Any leftover money will go toward driving lessons.]
RR:  Don't they have active volcanoes in Africa?
Mommy:  Yes they do, but I promise you I will not take you to any place that is unsafe.  That being said, do not try to pet the lions when we are on safari.
RR:  Perhaps we should have my Bat Mitzvah somewhere safe, like in America.
Mommy:  [looking her straight in the eyes] I will always protect you, because I am your Mommy, wherever we are in the world.
RR:  Even when we go to visit Mars and Jupiter?
Mommy:  Yes, even in outer space, I will protect you and keep you safe.  That is my job.

Later today, we went to the Jerusalem Botanical Gardens, for the last day of the gallery showing of Raphaela's photograph, followed by the Dinosaur Tour. I must admit, these life-size moving and growling dinosaur robots felt so real that even I was a bit frightened.  When we got to the T-Rex, Raphaela hit behind me and said, "Mommy, I know these are just robots, but now is the time you need to protect me. It's your job!""

 

 

As a small present, I bought Raphaela a dinosaur egg that 'hatches' after you soak it in water.  She has now spent several hours sitting and watching this egg, waiting for it to crack and release the toy inside.  I didn't even bother explaining about watched pots never boiling.

Summer Time...

And the Living is Easy.

In a recent most unpleasant encounter with a particular someone, he accused me of being a "neurotic perfectionist," too rigid to accept others for their true selves.  Like when he meets me three hours after we had arranged and does not call to let me know he is running late, by three hours, and then wonders why I am "in a mood" and consider him less than totally reliable.

Theoretically speaking, of course.

But the discussion got me thinking about the wound-up New Yorker for so many years, planning so hard for the future that I was not enjoying the moment at all.  And I know that I have been judgmental in the past and not given people the benefit of the doubt, and have actively worked on changing for the better.

In the past few days, I have lost track of time and arrived late (I NEVER arrive late), I have shoved laundry to the side instead of folding it right away (the horrors), dishes are sitting in the sink and paperwork is piling up in the office.   Slowly the house is taking on the concept of ordered chaos, just call me Messy Mommy. I find this trend intriguing and disturbing at the same time.

I could attribute it to my upcoming birthday, perhaps the synapses in my mind are deteriorating. Or the vibe of Summer, where everything moves just a little slower and easier. Or the oppressive heat of Jerusalem and the exhaustion that comes with it.

I remain most curious to see where this will take me.

On the Way to Gan...

Mommy, did you cry when I was born?

Yes, I did, but it was happy tears.

Because you were excited to have a new baby, right?

Absolutely!

But you don't cry anymore, because I am a big girl.

Not true!  I am always proud of you and the things that you do, and you do amazing things.  So I will cry happy tears for a long time, and that's OK.

You know Mommy, I am very excited about going into First Grade, I just may cry.

The American-Israel Divide

In less than one week, I will celebrate my 18th year anniversary of moving to Israel.  There are days where I feel fully integrated into Israeli culture and society, and days where I question my sanity of staying in this country another day.

For example, on Shabbat Raphaela took our weekly walk to the Valley of Gazelle's near our house, for our weekly Shabbat picnic lunch.  Sitting quite close to our picnic spot were two families, and one mother was discussing - actually shouting loudly, a crime we Americans are often accused of - her son's upcoming birthday party.  She proudly declared that her son would "hit the jackpot with stupid presents," and that he would never get the chance to use any of them.  This mother had planned on exchanging all the gifts toward the purchase of school back packs for next Fall.

When the boy heard this (obviously for the first time), he complained loudly that they were his gifts for his birthday, and that she didn't have a right to confiscate them for something as practical as school supplies.

The mother replied that he has no choice in the matter, that she planned on earning back her investment in the party, and he had better suck it up for the good of the family.

At that moment I felt more Israeli than American, in the sense that it is a practical approach, and realistically, this boy would not play with most of the presents he would receive for more than five minutes.  On the other hand, the birthday-hater in me sympathized with him.

And now for the American experience.

A decision had to be made in Raphaela's Gan by all the parents, except that no one  - including the teachers or the Parents Committee - would take responsibility for the project.  Naturally I, being a political science major, enthusiastic facilitator (I should get therapy for that trait) and the token blunt American, took on the job of polling all 34 families toward coming to a decision.

The parents had from Friday through the end of Sunday to text a simple "yes" or "no" to my phone, so that only I would know their opinion, without retribution from the Kindergarten staff.  By the end of the voting period, less than half the Gan population had voted, and even getting that result was like pulling teeth.  I suppose this echoes the nature of real national elections, so I shouldn't be disappointed or surprised.

The American in me, that proactive person who believes that you get involved and defend the cause in which you believe, just doesn't understand why no one seems to care, why humans are content to allow others to make decisions for them.  You could argue that Israelis live life-and-death decisions almost daily, and are therefore willing to take a back seat on the smaller things, like their children's education.

Whatever.

Raphaela in Wonderland

When I picked up Raphaela from school yesterday, she handed me a birthday card, and all the staff of the Kindergarten wished me a "Mazal tov!"  The Head Teacher came over to me and said that a "little bird" had told her that I was celebrating my birthday.

"Yes," I replied, "one month from now..."

Quick on the recovery, Raphaela jumped in and said, "Very well then Mommy, Happy Un-birthday! It will be your un-birthday every day until we get to the real one."

I Like it Here in America

Eight years ago, I received a phone call from my third cousin -our great-grandfathers were brothers - who happened to find me after he had done extensive genealogical research.  Bonus, we happened to be neighbors in the same area in Jerusalem, and when my daughter was born, she had a slew of  built -in cousins. He became a big brother, and his wife was my doula during Raphaela's birth; she was the second person in the world to hold my daughter after the birth.

This past weekend, this family celebrated the Bar Mitzvah of their eldest son, and Raphaela and I happily attended this event.  Raphaela immediately clicked with a cousin who is a bit younger than her, thrilled that she was finally able to play "Elsa and Anna" and be in charge.  In fact, Raphaela spent the whole weekend speaking a beautiful English to relatives from the United States who barely speak Hebrew.

At one point during Shabbat lunch, Raphaela came over to me and whispered in my ear, "I have such a big family!" Then she ran off and I barely saw her the whole day.  Truly a Win-Win situation.

Given that I treasure the life I have built here in Israel, and I believe in the value system here, I would not actually consider moving back to America any time soon.  However, this weekend reminded me how close I am to my first cousins, mostly to the credit of my grandmother who hosted the whole family several times a year on major holidays.  My grandmother also put effort into reminding us to stay in touch and strengthen our connections throughout the cycle of the year.

I am sad for my own daughter, who knows that theoretically there is a big wide world of aunts and uncles and cousins, and that she has only met and spent time with a handful of them.  I am also sad for her that she automatically accepts that many of them may visit us in Israel for a short period of time, and will then return to their life overseas.

At one point during Shabbat, Raphaela told me that she wishes we could live in the United States, if it meant seeing more of our family.

Body Math

This morning I had my annual gynecological check-up.

Don't worry, I am not going to go all Kim Kardashian and include every detail of the visit.  My stylist, make up person and camera crew have the day off.

As with every visit to the doctor, just to torture myself a little, I stepped on the scale to see how much I weighed.  Here are the abstract numbers:

Today, I weigh four kilo over the weight that I was at the height of my pregnancy.
I verified with my doctor that during my pregnancy, I gained a total of six kilo, and Raphaela's body represented half that amount.
The week after I gave birth, I weighed two kilo less than I had at the beginning of my pregnancy.

Of course, until two weeks before I gave birth I was running four to five times per week.  Ever since the great heat wave started in Jerusalem last month, I have basically stopped running and exercising, because I am having difficulties dealing with the weather.

So here's my commitment to weight loss and exercise, for myself:  phase one entails getting to my pregnancy weight, phase two to my pre-pregnancy weight, and phase three (those last two kilo are the hardest) to my post-birth weight.

All encouragement will be accepted and appreciated.

This is a Test of the Emergency Broadcast System

This week, the army held a country-wide test of their capability, and that of us citizens, to deal with an attack on our soil.  The first siren went off at 11 am; Raphaela was at school ("We didn't do anything, Mommy.") and I was working.  Together with a client and a few neighbors, we went downstairs to the bomb shelter.

Which was locked tight, and as far as we knew, no one in the building holds the key.  Luckily, a little sticker on the door informed us that the shelter had been inspected at noon, an hour after the siren that had just occurred in that moment.  We marveled at Israel's apparent ability to use time travel to dodge beaurocracy.

===================================================================

The second siren took place at seven pm, while Raphaela was in the bath.  Calmly, she asked me if "this was where we stand like a statue out of respect, or run and hide."

===================================================================

As the kindergarten school year comes to an end, the frequency of multi-child birthday parties has increased as well.  Raphaela asked if there was another party today, and when I answered in the negative, she sighed in relief.  "Mommy, I just can't eat any more birthday cake."

===================================================================

With time to spare before Shabbat, Raphaela and I took a walk to the park down the street from our house.  At some point, I and another father happened to notice a little boy, no more than four years old, frozen with fear and clinging for dear life on a ledge about ten feet off the ground on the playground equipment.  Lord knows how he managed to climb there by himself.

I asked him where his parents were, and he pointed to a BBQ picnic on the grassy area nearby.  I told the parents that they needed to rescue their son, and the boy's father immediately ran over and tried to get to his son, but was unable to reach him.  Another father, a young Israeli in great shape, immediately ran over and scaled the wall, catching the boy before he fell.  Then, with help from the boy's father, they lowered him down to the ground.

An obviously adventurous child, as soon as his legs hit solid ground, he started crying.

==================================================================

On the way out of the park, we happened upon a guitar circle, six older Israeli men singing classic songs from the 60's and 70's.  We joined them for a bit, and after a great version of some Beatle's hits, we head home to start Shabbat.

Now that's a nice way to transition into the weekend.

Mollie

It is rare, professionally or personally, for someone to touch you so deeply.  Mollie was one of those women, a true Lady, who showed me that you can age beautifully and gracefully, with energy and health and joy.

Mollie would have celebrated her 96th birthday this coming June, she was both a client and a neighbor, and she became a friend.  Every time the temperatures dropped in Jerusalem, Mollie called without fail and insisted that Raphaela and I sleep in her apartment, so we could be warm at night.  She knew that we do not have any normal heating, and according to her daughter, she worried about us all the time.

Mollie also loved our cat, Harry, brought him treats and always asked about his welfare.  She had always thought about getting a pet, but as she got older, it became harder and harder to think about having to walk the dog three times a day.

She fell ill only in the last few months of her life, and she passed away on Tuesday.  Until the end she was surrounded by her children and grandchildren, and her friends.   I had the honor of being her Chiropractor, but more importantly, having such an inspirational woman a part of my life.

I will miss her.

Stampede!

Today the Israel Museum in Jerusalem put on a 50th birthday party.  Not only was admission free for everyone, all day, but they also gave out museum-themed loot bags, created a giant cake reproduction of the museum itself, and had former President of Israel, Shimon Peres, cut the ribbon to open the birthday festivities.


Unfortunately, they did not actually plan a birthday party that was actual children-friendly.


They had one clown (one!) who functioned as the balloon animal provider, and after waiting on line for twenty minutes, Raphaela decided that it was not worth the time.


They had set up a long table, full of brightly colored drinks and special Israel Museum cupcakes for the children, and then it sat there for over two hours, guarded by one poor security guard, while parents and children clamored behind the thin barrier.


Those in charge kept insisting that they had to wait for some signal before they were allowed to serve the growing crowd of tired and frustrated children and their families.  At one point Raphaela started crying out of pure exhaustion, and immediately several mothers yelled at me for trying to manipulate the situation through tears. I tried to explain that Raphaela has never been a crier, and that I didn't plan this little show to get things moving.


Almost 45 minutes after the original schedule, the volunteers behind the barrier began tentatively giving out a glass of sticky juice and a cupcake to the children closest to the gate.  Within one minute, the parents (including regrettably, myself) had ripped away any remaining barriers and sense of order, and everyone stampeded toward the treats table.  Juice spilled, people were trampled, and for five minutes I lost Raphaela in the crowd.


Afterwards I pulled Raphaela over to the side, chastised her for getting separated from me; and when she bit into this cupcake, she said, "I don't like it.  Let's go see something at the museum."

At the Sports Expo this afternoon, picking up the t-shirt and bib and instructions for the Jerusalem Marathon on Friday.  Every vendor is giving out stuff, and Raphaela walked away with quite a haul, including a balloon, sticker, bracelet and sweatband.

On the way to the car, Raphaela, skipping and smiling, said to me, "Mommy, I am happy all over my body because I got so many presents."

"Wow," I said, "why do you think you got all those gifts?  It's like a birthday party!"
"Because," Raphaela answered, "everyone loves me!"
I kissed Raphaela on the head and said, "Everyone loves you, but especially your Mommy."
"Oh yes," she replied, "my Mommy loves me best of all."

Anyone? Bueller? Anyone?

At the beginning of the school year, I took great pains to explain to the Kindergarten teacher regarding my status as a single mother by choice IE no father in the picture at all, and the fact that all of our relatives live in America.  I asked her to keep these immutable facts in mind when planning family-oriented events.

At Raphaela's birthday party in Gan, along with three other children, the teacher introduced an activity of just mothers and then, just fathers.  The only thing that saved us and every other person in the room from extreme awkwardness was the presence of my brother, who stood in as a father-figure for that particular exercise.

Mildly annoying to me, and I was glad that later in the year, her class largely ignored the celebration of Israeli "Family Day," thus avoiding the need to explain myself, again.

Today I received an invitation for the big party of the year,  The Grandparents Party.  The invitation stated that the honored guests (the grandparents) would arrive at 11:30 am, and that we, parents of the children of the class,  were to surprise the grandparents with a large bouquet of flowers a half hour later.

More than mildly annoying, and I wrote to the teacher, asking what she planned to do for all the kids, not just my daughter, who for reasons geographical or otherwise (very elderly, illness etc) could not attend.  She replied that in cases like that, parents could attend, or we could send emissaries in our name, such as random grown-up friends of the family.

"Wonderful," I wrote back, and continued, "So if I am both parent and grandparent, when should I come?  Should a bring a bouquet of flowers, which I will then present to myself?"

No response yet from Raphaela's teacher.

Verging on actually annoyed and angry at this point, and wondering if I should keep Raphaela home from school that day and make it a Mommy and me beach day.

Gan Birthday Party, The Main Event

Today, loaded with bags of costumes (for the re-enactment of the classic Israeli children's book, Grandfather Eliezer and the Giant Carrot) and enough food to feed the Israeli army, four proud parents celebrated the fifth birthday, the first official party of the year.

The excitement could not be contained, and not just for the honorees but for all 35 of the students of Gan Devorah.  The Head Teacher first led the class in the normal morning routine of singing and Jewish prayer; then she formally invited the parents to join in, and dance. Lots of joyous dancing! There was the perfect balance between involving all the kids, and making special notice of the three birthday girls and the birthday boy.

At one point, each child was asked to choose three friends to give them a personal blessing, and surprisingly, my daughter chose three of the boys in her class.  Even the teacher could be seen shaking her head and smiling in the unexpected move.

Following the "Mother's Dance," the teacher invited the men of the family to play a modified game of Marco Polo.  Amazingly, both Raphaela and I were blessed with the presence of my brother, who moved to Israel with his family this past August.  Raphaela was overwhelmed with joy that she was surrounded by family and could participate equally, that she was not left out of anything, for obvious lack of a father.

Then the four parents stepped and engineered a play that included all 35 children in the class, all in various costumes gathered from the Purim closets in all our houses.  Wildly successful, and we are thinking of taking the act to Broadway next.

On a final note, the teacher had said at the beginning of the year that this was a special group of kids, more intelligent and thus more "challenging...in a good way" than she has seen in previous years.  I can attest to that personally. 

Firstly, when I first took Raphaela to school today, one of the boys for no real reason started making fun of my daughter's dress, a step-up in fancy than the usual.  Before I even had a chance to open my mouth and defend my offspring, one of her girl friends said loud and clear, in front of the whole group seated there, "That's not nice, making fun of someone and hurting their feelings!"

[ I believe that mothers carry so much guilt at what we perceive we are not doing right, and we are not told often enough that our efforts have paid off.  So I immediately called this girl's mother and told her that she had raised a wise and brave and wonderful child.] 

Later, before the party, a group of  8-9 girls of Raphaela's friends, told me that I was the "Cool Mom," and they insisted that I play with them, sharing their stories and their feelings with me as we sat in a large circle.  I felt a happiness that I cannot express adequately, knowing that Raphaela is part of this beautiful group. Today as in all days,  I was proud to be (as the Israelis say) "The Mother of  Raphaela."

All parents want for their children is to know that they are loved and secure in all their relationships.