Post Shavuot Report

(Random musings after a long holiday weekend.)

I believe in reincarnation, though I have not put too much thought into who Raphaela might have been in a previous life.  This weekend she was playing with some Playmobil figures, and said, "This family is very poor, because they used up all their life savings to buy their house, and now they don't have a financial safety net."

Seriously.  I am not making this up.  Apparently in her previous life she was very fiscally savvy.

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Among the various Torah topics that came up during Shavuot were the Ten Commandments, and why some of them make sense intrinsically for society - "Don't Kill" "Don't Steal" - and why some are more difficult, like "Honor your father and your mother."  I explained that the Torah does not actually talk about love in this commandment, it is about respect for the person who brought you into the world.  It is about (in all practical terms) "listening to your Mommy."

Then I looked at Raphaela, straight in the eyes, and said, "The Torah talks about a child honoring and respecting her parents.  I will make you a deal:  if you listen to me and treat me with kindness, I will do the same for you.  Because you are my girl.  I will do the commandment of honoring you, your feelings and your needs."

Raphaela was most pleased.

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She has become a shrewd negotiator, this girl.  I wanted to take a nap on Sunday of Shavuot, because I so rarely get that gift during my work week, in fact, never.  Raphaela wanted me to play with her, all day, and resented my taking two hours out of that schedule to sleep.

Then she suggested to me, "Mommy, we always take a nap on Shabbat, and when we wake up, you give me a special Shabbat snack.  If I let you nap on a Sunday, on Shavuot, will you give me a special Shavuot snack when you wake up?"

Deal!  Done and done.

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Yesterday we spent some time at the Gazelle Valley near our house, and had a brunch picnic in the grass.  Remarkably, there was a group of three deer that had left the gated off sanctuary and were wandering around the park; they came within three feet of myself and Raphaela, we could almost pet them.  We were so excited and spend a good hour following this intrepid group around the grass and up the pathways, that I didn't notice that I had dropped my small bag.

When we sat down to eat, I realized that it was missing, and told Raphaela that if we didn't find it, so be it. It was not the worst tragedy in the world.

Then a little French boy walked by, and I noticed that he had my little pouch on his arm.  Raphaela jumped up and caught up to him, and said, "That is my Mommy's bag, can we have it back please?"  The boy agreed immediately and came over, telling us his and his whole family's life story;  they are moving to a bigger apartment, they are getting a dog, their exact address, his feelings on women who wear short-shorts...

I took him back to his parents and told them that he had done me a great kindness by finding my bag in the bushes and returning it to me without hesitation.  Parents should hear that they have done a good job, because we so often do not receive any external validation.

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On Pessach, the first day of school vacation, Raphaela lost her first tooth.  On Shabbat, Raphaela lost her second tooth.

I explained that the Tooth Fairy does not work on Shabbat or Jewish holidays, and that she would have to wait until Monday night to place her Precious under the pillow.  Raphaela carried around that tooth for two days straight, to be sure that it would ready and able the minute the holiday ended.

She also wrote this letter, and folded it next to her tooth:

A Visit to the Vet

I dedicate this post today to my first born, Harry The Highlander.  At the honorable age of 14 and a half (that's almost 80 in human years), this cat has taught me patience, and how to love without expecting anything in return.

At home, he is almost human:  needy for attention from people, extremely verbal, easy to purr even with strangers, and always placing himself at the center of any action.  When we go to the vet (thank goodness infrequently) he has been red-flagged by the doctor as a vicious, uncooperative, scratching tiger.  Even if he has to get a simple procedure, he must either be sedated or put in the Squeeze Cage.

Yesterday he had an appointment, and needed to get two injections.  As Harry gets older, the doctor has advised less shots and less intervention, so it was three years since our last visit.  It was a new vet, and I advised him that unless he didn't value his hands, it would be best to use the Squeeze Cage.

"But he looks so sweet and friendly," the vet said.
"Trust me." I replied.

Once caged, Harry allowed the vet and his assistant to do their work, not acting out at all, though  certainly complaining loudly the entire time. No humans were harmed in the attempt.

The vet thought that I had overestimated Harry's resistance to the doctor's office.
I know I didn't.  Because I heard about it all the way home, from Harry.

And finally, to show his displeasure, he ran into the garden and hid from me for the rest of the day, refusing to come inside as it got dark.

(Raphaela, who aspires to be a Veterinarian and Zoo Keeper when she gets older, found the whole experience hilarious.)

This past Friday, as I prepared for Shabbat, Raphaela came into the kitchen and said, "Mommy, I can help you today. I do have two free hands."

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We have a bird nest on the small shelf outside our bathroom.  The chicks are almost full bird-size at this point, and yet their mother continues to feed them, and they plant themselves firmly in their nest, refusing to even trying to fly into the real world.

Raphaela and I spent the last hour before Shabbat ended (what a long long Shabbat) watching an amusing play between the mother and her babies.  Excuse me if I misinterpret certain bird sounds.

Bird Mom:  What, you are still in the nest? Time for you to learn how to fly! (paces around the shelf near the nest)
Bird Babies:  What do you mean, time to leave?!  We like it here.
Bird Mom:  Well, I am not sticking around when you are perfectly capable of flying like a normal bird.  (Flies away)
Bird Babies:  (Heads bobbing wildly, they both step up to the ledge of the window)  Hey, did she actually leave us here?
Several minutes pass, the mother does not return, and the birds sit down stubbornly in their nest.

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This morning, as I was getting Raphaela her breakfast, before I jumped into the shower to start my day, she watched me as I set out her cereal and milk, a glass of juice and a small piece of cheese.  As she took the food to her table, she said, "Mommy, you are like a waitress! How did you learn that?"

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As we got ready to go to school, Raphaela admired my pocket book, and asked me what it was made of.  I hesitated for a minute and then said, "Honey, I know that you are a vegetarian and it hurts your feelings when you think about animals being killed and eaten.  So what I am about to tell you might not be nice for you."

She nodded seriously, and I continued, "We get lots of things from cows, food like meat and milk for drinking.  But leather, like my purse or like some kinds of shoes, also comes from a cow, it is their skin."

Surprisingly, she did not flinch, and instead admired how useful a cow could be for humans. Raphaela will not undo her vegetarian choice, but she is quite interested in understanding how milk starts from the cow and ends up in our supermarket.

The Tooth Fairy vs. The Prophet Elijah

Last night while I was brushing Raphaela's hair, her first tooth fell out.

It was a cause for great celebration and "happy tears" in our house, as this meant that she was really getting big and more important, it meant that the Tooth Fairy would be visiting our house in the night, after Raphaela fell asleep.

First thing Raphaela did was call her current BFF "N", upon which she got a five minute lecture from her friend that it is stupid to believe in the Tooth Fairy and that the real culprit is our mother or father.  Six and a half years old, and already so jaded...

Undaunted, Raphaela carefully wrapped her tooth and put it under her pillow.  Lo and Behold, when she woke up this morning her tooth had magically disappeared, and in its place, a note from the Tooth Fairy and a gift of ten New Israeli Shequel. (It was the smallest change the Tooth Fairy had on such short notice...)

"AHA!" Raphaela showed me, in triumph. "I guess N was wrong about the Tooth Fairy."

I took a picture of the new gap in her row of teeth, this milestone recorded for all posterity. 

I also noticed that she has another tooth pushing in quite aggressively already, I see that Raphaela inherited my compressed jaw.  Time to start saving for braces, I suppose.

Meanwhile, Raphaela is already anticipating the visit of our next mysterious and magical visitor, The Prophet Elijah, who will visit us the night of Seder and drink some wine while we are sleeping.  He might also leave Raphaela a gift and a note, if she finds the Afikoman, the hidden matza at Seder.

I just hope that Raphaela doesn't do a handwriting comparison between the Tooth Fairy and the Prophet Elijah.

As an afterthought, Santa Clause has his own song, don't you think the Tooth Fairy and the Prophet Elijah deserves one as well?

A Double Celebration

Today is a special day, and not because it happens to be International Women's Day.

First of all, today is Harry The Highlander's 14th birthday, that would be 72 years old in human terms.  Since Harry goes outside, where there is a constant danger of cars and other animals, I had assumed that he would live to be about ten, and that Raphaela would have the chance to choose the next kitten and raise it more as her own.

And yet here he is, thank G-d active and healthy, still chasing birds and lizards, and leading a generally fulfilling life, for a cat in Jerusalem.

To celebrate, Raphaela took a bag of treats to school, to share with all her classmates, as is the custom in elementary schools in Israel.

Today is also the second day in which Raphaela officially feels that her wiggly wobbly tooth may be falling out, sometime in the next two months...Her excitement grows as she imagines what it would be like to get a visit from the Tooth Fairy, and she wrote a note to her teacher expressing this anticipation and joy.

So it's a good day all around to be a six year old, and to be her Mommy.

Open Season

Today, this jewel arrived in our mail box:

Yes, the Purim 2016 costume catalog has arrived.  All over Israel, children will be pouring over this flyer as if it were a rare and ancient text, one that holds all the secrets of the Universe.

The Empty Plate Club

The Jerusalem Marathon will take place next month, and thanks to the gift of beautiful weather, I have been able to train outside in the park for the last week.  Tonight I was talking to Raphaela and expressing the hope that some day maybe we could run together in the Marathon, and Raphaela said, "I will try to run very fast and win!"

I explained to Raphaela that I know that I am not going to come in first place, ("Because usually an African wins," said Raphaela AKA Little Miss Obvious)  and that I am running for enjoyment of it, and to know that I finished something I started.  "Because when you start something, you must commit to it, and finish it, see it through."  I explained.

Then Raphaela and I discussed the one exception to that important life rule, that if you eat and you feel full, you do not have to finish the rest of the contents on the plate.  While I am not actively encouraging wasting food, I have taught Raphaela to listen to her body, and stop eating when her body says "Enough."

"Because if you just eat food when you don't need it, you will get fat, and that's not healthy."  Added Raphaela, who has a Health Class in school.

"And then," continued my daughter, "if you go to a restaurant and you can't finish your order, you ask them to wrap it up for you and take it home, so you can eat it another day."

36 Grown-Up Hours

For the first time since Raphaela was born, she stayed with my parents (who were visiting from the US) over Shabbat, and I stayed home, alone, with no one to care for other than myself and marginally, our cat Harry.

Friday

On the way to school, half way down the block, a man called to me.  I turned around and did not recognize him, he had just dropped his little boy off at a nursery near our house.  He said to us, "I see you and your daughter walking to school every morning. I am headed in that direction, to that school, do you want a ride?"

"No thank you," I said. Because I know that Raphaela is very possessive of our time together in the morning, and because it is a beautiful sunny day, atypical for Jerusalem in February.

After we came home from school in the afternoon, I asked for Raphaela's help in packing the overnight bag, and showed her all her clothing and her toothbrush and hair accessories. "And WHY," she asked with suspicion, "will you not be able to take care of these things yourself?"

I had put off telling her that I would not be joining the rest of the family on this sleepover party, and could not avoid it any longer. I explained that she would have special bonding time with her cousin and her grandparents, and that I would pick her up after Shabbat.

Holding back tears, Raphaela and I chose a special doll that she would take with her, to remind her that I am always with her and always love her, no matter where I am.  That seemed to do the trick.

Friday Afternoon

After dropping Raphaela off at my parents and driving home, I could actually feel my stomach drop a little. It felt odd, it felt wrong for the house to be so quiet, for me to have not much of anything to do for anyone.  For the first time in six years I had free time without responsibility, and I had no idea what to do with myself.

Apparently, motherhood has altered my identity and my essential state of being, and there's no going back.

Friday Night

Dinner with friends, with good food and a very good bottle of red wine to share.  I would estimate that half of the conversation that I contributed to the evening somehow involved my daughter, not counting the people who said, "Too bad Raphaela is not here, I haven't seen her in a while."

I call that the "Mother of" Phenomenon:  since I gave birth, my name (and that of all mothers to children in Israel) became "Raphaela's Mother," even amongst the parents of her classmates. In Israel, where family values take precedence above all, you are defined by your relatives and most especially your children.

Shabbat Morning

I can do it!  And more miraculously, Harry can do it!  My cat (whom I have had longer than Raphaela) who usually wakes me up at the crack of dawn, let me sleep in until 8:30 am.   I have not slept past six am in years, and I did not think my body remembered how.  Of course, it meant that I missed the party at my friend's house for International Ice Cream for Breakfast Day.

Shabbat Day

I finally got into the groove, stopped feeling guilty, and of all the activities I did today, perhaps the most inspiring was the five kilometer plus hike around Jerusalem. I didn't have to pack a picnic lunch (Raphaela needs snacks when we go on trips), just myself and my sneakers and my bottle of water.  I walked through the park, felt the sun on my face, smiled at random people and generally remembered why it feels so good to get some exercise into my life.

I had been waiting for that push to return to an intensive training program for the Jerusalem Marathon in March, and now I have it.  That adrenaline also reminded me that I must take care of myself and my body, if I want to stick around for a long and healthy life, and watch Raphaela grow into her full potential.

Saturday Night

I needed time away from Raphaela in order to miss her, in order to understand how we fit into each other, even when we are apart.  The closer it got to the end of Shabbat, the more I started going back into Mom mode, thinking about how she has school tomorrow, and hoping that the weekend passed without incident.

I feel truly grateful that my parents were able to take Raphaela for her first ever sleep over, she enjoyed the time with her family, and I was able to have this time to myself.

As soon as she saw me she started crying and fell into my arms, saying that she missed me; my father said that she had been 100% until I walked in the door. It's nice to be missed.

I Have a Dream

And in that dream, I get one month off from my responsibilities as a mother, where I don't have to get up early and make lunches and take to school and pick up from school and supervise homework and hear another story about the imaginary unicorn who went to school.

Of course I am more realistic,  and so God Willing, this coming Shabbat, my daughter will be having a sleep over from Friday to Saturday night with my parents, who will be visiting from the United States.  That is assuming that Raphaela's cough does not develop into anything real;  my parents are essentially coming to meet my brother's new baby, and I don't want her making anyone ill, especially not a newborn.

What will I do for that 36 hour period?  I am hoping to make arrangements with friends and have some grown-up play time.  Or maybe I will stay in my pajamas all Saturday and eat junk food all day.  But this would be the first time that I will be alone, away from Raphaela, since she was born, unless you count the three days I was hospitalized with my emergency appendectomy.

There is, however, a major catch:  the last two times my parents have visited Israel, marks the last two times that Raphaela fell and split open her chin, necessitating a visit to the emergency room at Shaarei Zedek Hospital. One of those events occurred when Raphaela was playing with my mother, who has never gotten used to my child's high level of energy.

Accidents, both times, totally unintentional and I do not blame my parents in any way.  The second time we went to the emergency room, they looked at me funny and asked many questions to confirm that I am not a negligent or abusive parent.  If we show up a third time with the same exact injury, I can pretty much guarantee that Social Services will show up at my door.

So yes, I admit that there is a part of me that does not trust my parents to keep my child out of harm's way, given their track record.  Three times is NOT a charm.  Considering that the entire weekend will be spent running around with cousins, I pray that the cycle of dangerous falls and stitches is over.

Stories from the Parenting Front

When I became pregnant, I made a vow not to swear in front of my future child, because words have power.
Apparently during the birth (according to my doula) I "swore like a sailor," to the point that it shocked her slightly. I don't really remember, but can you blame me? I didn't get my epidural.

These days, my worst volley of curse words come out when I am driving, because despite the fact that I learned how to drive in Boston, Israeli drivers seem to be even worse.  Last night, while driving Raphaela to ballet in the rain, I substituted the classic Israeli "OOF!" for the F-word, because Raphaela was sitting in the back seat.  She obviously sensed my Code Red level of stress.

RR:  Mommy, Please don't use that word, it hurts my heart.
Me:  So what should I say instead if I am frustrated or nervous?
RR:  Try using "Yesh" [Hebrew for Hooray]. "I love you" also works nicely.

(I have this feeling that my daughter and the Dalai Lama could do good work together.)

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6:30 am this morning, while the two of us stood at the bathroom sink brushing our teeth.

RR:  Mommy, I washed my hands to take away the bacteria and stay healthy.
Me:  You know that there is good bacteria and bad bacteria in your body.
RR:  Why do we have good and bad bacteria?
Me:  The Universe is all about balance.  Good and bad. Light and dark. Yin and Yang.
RR:  Male and Female!  Like we learned when God created the world!
RR:  A boy has a penis, what does a girl have?
Me:  A vagina.
RR: Hey, that rhymes with China.
Me:  Indeed.

Life without Cher

My car, Cher, is almost 16 years old, but because I don't have much of a commute to work, she has less than 55,000 km on her speedometer.

Two weeks ago, I took Cher to the garage for her annual routine Winter Check Up, and she passed.  I mentioned to the mechanic that I had a suspicion that there was an electrical issue somewhere, one that only manifested intermittently;  they did a diagnostic and found nothing.

This past Friday, I decided to drive Raphaela to school rather than walk, because I had several errands - a doctor's appointment, the supermarket, the bakery etc.- during the morning, all in different parts of town.  Cher would not start up, dead in the water except for the horrid blinking light that said "SERVICE." I did whatever I could by foot, and the rest, whatever. It was the day before Shabbat and it didn't pay to take care of it, when she could just sit in the parking space anyway over the weekend.

This morning I called a tow truck and at this moment, my baby is on it's way to what Raphaela calls the Car Doctor.  I don't know how much the repair will cost, but it will most certainly take a chunk out of my budget; believe me, if I could afford it, I would buy a new car.

I am ashamed and sad to admit that I have become dependent on Cher, my life and my daughter's even busier life demands wheels.  This morning was so cold outside that I could not imagine having to walk to school, and asked a friend from the class to take Raphaela in their car.

As a sample week, here are the thing that will become much more difficult if we must depend on public transportation, not to mention the added danger of bus stops with the Third Intifada in full swing:

Ballet Lesson (tonight)
School in the cold-inside-your-bones weather (today, tomorrow)
Camp (Tuesday, Wednesday)
Day trips for Chanukah (Thursday, next Sunday and Monday)
Supermarket (At some point, we have to eat)
Family Chanukah party (Thursday)
Long weekend of vacation that I am desperate for, that we have both been looking forward to for such a long time (Friday through Sunday)

I did not know how much I counted on Cher until she died.

Get Your Hot Dogs Here!

For several years now, if you ask Raphaela for the list of her favorite foods, hot dogs and olives appear first and foremost.  I have often given her the speech about hot dogs, how there are higher quality meats out there, and I have failed to get through;  we instituted a rule in the house that she is not allowed to have them more than twice a week.

Now that I have to pack lunches every day of the week for school, hot dogs make my life a little easier. Once a week, I put them in a heat-able container, and I know she will eat food that day.  Since she is not a sandwich person, I have to get creative with my menus.

This afternoon, when I picked up Raphaela from school, she told me that when she took out her lunch today, she was barraged by commentary from her class mates.

"One of my friends told me that hot dogs aren't healthy, because they are made out of melted chicken feathers.  Then another friend said that hot dogs are made out of pig meat, and that isn't Kosher!  I looked hard and I didn't see any feathers."

I couldn't help but laugh, because in one lunch the girls in her class had managed to turn her against her favorite food. I explained that hot dogs every once in a while will not hurt her, and that at the very least her hot dogs are kosher, so one can hope that they don't contain too much questionable material.

"From now on my favorite foods are pizza and chicken fingers."

Ear Piercing Adventures

In our family, it is a tradition to wait until the age of 12, until Bat Mitzvah, to get pierced ears.  That is what I tell Raphaela when she asks to get them pierced sooner, that it must be when you are aware enough and responsible enough to take care of the post-piercing procedures, by yourself.

My grandmother took me to get my ears pierced right before my Bat Mitzvah, at a jewelry store in Providence, Rhode Island.  My ten year old brother came with us and he was going through his "gun stage." He stood next to me and set the scene which left me crying, "They're using this cool gun and they are going to shoot your ear off and there is going to be blood  and body parts EVERYWHERE!"

Actually, this brother never outgrew his gun stage:  after years as a successful investment banker he became a beat cop, so he could legally carry guns and threaten people as an office of the law.  Not counting the 12 or so hunting rifles he keeps in his house.  He remembers that day because not long after we left the jewelry store, it got robbed.  My brother thinks that is really cool.

After I made aliyah, I decided that I needed to do a "Tikun" [a Hebrew Kabbalah term for spiritual repair] of that original experience.  So I went and got a third hole, which eventually closed up.  I remember when my mother saw the third earring, she started to hyperventilate and point, barely speaking, "Why you...you...have a third ear....ring!"

"Don't freak out Mom," I told her. "This has nothing to do with my sexuality, I still like boys. It's just a fashion statement in Israel, nothing more.  And I promise there are no earrings hiding on my belly button or my tongue or anywhere else. I am too afraid of pain to do something stupid like that."

Flash forward to this past September, when inexplicably, one of my earring holes closed up, in my right ear.  Confident it was just a minor glitch, I tried to push an earring through to reopen it, and there was lots of blood (but thankfully not body parts) everywhere.  So today I am going to get my ear re-pierced, as well as reopening the third piercing.

I am going to try to be brave.  Wish me luck.

Silly Rabbit, Trix are for Kids

When I was in the supermarket this week, I was hungry.  Never go food shopping when you are hungry. 

As a result, I brought home a sugar cereal instead of the healthier option of corn flakes.  Just looking at the box brought back all sorts of lovely childhood memories, as well as memories of Sunday morning breakfasts in college, one of the best periods in my life.

When I offered it to Raphaela this morning, her eyes went wide, her smile went even wider, and she said, "I must have been very good to deserve this!"

We're all Human

Yesterday Raphaela and I spent three hours at the Pediatric Ophthalmology Unit at Hadassah Hospital,  getting her vision reassessed.  Raphaela was hoping that after the last year of being really good and wearing her glasses all the time, the doctor would tell us that at the very least her eyes had improved, and ideally, giving us a date when she would no longer need her glasses at all.

Instead, we got a lovely pep talk, "Stability is a Good Thing!"  And yes, while I am grateful that her astigmatism has not gotten worse in the last year, both of us were admittedly a little disappointed.

I knew that her eyes would be sensitive after all the tests and the dreaded eye drops, so I had brought sunglasses for Raphaela to wear, on our walk back to the parking lot and to the car.  Unfortunately I brought the wrong pair, they were mine actually, and they kept slipping off Raphaela's face.

I apologized and said, "Mommy made a mistake, I'm sorry."

A Israeli woman in her 40's, sitting near us during this exchange, immediately added her (unsolicited) opinion:  "Oh no, a Mommy is not allowed to make mistakes. Parents are never wrong!""

I replied, mostly for myself and so Raphaela would hear, "That was exactly my point.  People, especially parents, are still human beings, and we are not perfect.  I think it is important for a child to know that even their mother or father can be wrong on occasion, and that it is always appropriate to acknowledge the other and apologize."

Wednesday Encounters

This afternoon Raphaela had her semi-annual preventative dental check-up.  The dentist had nothing but praise for the condition and cleanliness of her teeth, and even showed me one milk tooth that had the slightest bit of wiggle.  Then the dentist looked at me grimly and said, "However...I would start saving up for braces now."

Once we returned home, we bumped into our downstairs neighbors, they have a girl the same age as Raphaela and a boy two years older.  We two moms lamented the fact that tomorrow is the last day of official camp.  When I asked the other mother about her plans for August, she answered, "We will all start to climb the walls, like everyone else in our position."

Flashback Wednesday

Last year at this time, we here in Israel were sorting out the sirens and the bomb shelters and the consequences of a war.  It was a hard place to live.

This morning a test siren went off, the population had been told in advance and yet...when it started I had a flashback to last summer, and I had instant nervous tension in my stomach and the beginnings of a terrible headache.

And when the siren ended, I started thinking about the deal the United States just made with Iran, how that puts me and my child and everyone in my country in harms way, not to mention any other Western infidel within reach of long-range ballistic missiles.  Then the headache flowered, full force.

I love Israel, I would not want to live or raise my daughter anywhere else,  but during that siren I was less than convinced.

Edging Closer to the End

Next week Gan officially ends and camp begins, the end of Kindergarten and the transition towards First Grade.  Already this week, both mine and Raphaela's schedule feels stuffed to the gills, though this is normal for this time of the year.

On Monday Raphaela had an eye doctor's appointment, she was very eager to know if/when she will no longer need glasses for her astigmatism, even while she doesn't seem to mind wearing them.  We don't yet have that answer, and will have to wait for her follow-up appointment in August.

On Tuesday, Raphaela perfomed in the end-of-the-year ballet recital.  The final number was a tribute to Frozen, every little girl's obsession, and the teacher had the brilliant idea to bring in sparkly glitter as a snow substitute.  She obviously didn't think it through to its most obvious conclusion:  after the dance, when the girls were expected to be cute and composed and disciplined ballerinas, they began rolling around and generally frolicking in the glitter, recycling it as many times as they could to throw it onto their teacher and the parents. As a parent I loved watching the sheer uncontained joy of these children, but I can understand why the teacher may have felt differently, as she held her head in her hands and sighed loudly.

On Wednesday I attended the semi-annual meeting of the Israeli Chiropractors, with attendance breaking all sorts of records.  The program had substance (it rocked!), we all got to network, learn new skills and refresh old ones, and celebrate the rebirth of our professional society.  Thankfully I was able to arrange an after-school play date for Raphaela, so I did not have to rush home or feel guilty for engaging in an adult conference.

On Thursday evening, Raphaela graduated from Kindergarten after a play based upon the concept of "Small Gifts," a famous Israeli song by Rami Kleinstein.  Each song said thank you for some small but beautiful aspect of life, like the Shabbat and the blessing of a Jewish country, and the gift of friendship.  What struck me the most was the tableau of these 34 children standing in front of the parents, looking so grown up and so big;  wondering how that happened and where the time went.

At one point the Head Teacher addressed the children, and quite frankly, scared the parents with an apocalyptic picture of real school, saying "No more fun, no more sand boxes and playgrounds...I wish you children luck!"

On Friday, the 18th anniversary of my Aliyah to Israel, Raphaela won third place in a photo contest sponsored by the Jerusalem Botanical Gardens, in a group of beautifully crafted pictures taken by 11-14 year olds, and my daughter.  What better way to celebrate my life in Israel, and what better way to go into the weekend and collapse...

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.

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.