The conversation I had with Raphaela at two am this morning, when she decided that it would the optimal time to play with her new Barbie doll, "Maayan":
Mommy: The sun is sleeping, Maayan is sleeping, and Raphaela needs to go to sleep. You can play with your dolls tomorrow.
Raphaela: Maybe you could turn up the sun a little?
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Monday, April 23, 2012
Yom HaZikaron 2012
On the eve of Yom HaZikaron, Memorial Day for the 22,993 fallen Israeli soldiers, I am reminded that we do much better for ourselves when we unite and work together as a large, extended family. I am also reminded of and grateful for their sacrifice, and wonder where I, and the Jews of the world, would be if we hadn't fought for the right to our country.
It is a privilege and honor to live in Jerusalem, Israel for the last 15 years, and I can't think of any other place on the planet where I would wish to raise my daughter Raphaela.
It is a daily struggle, the enemies constantly knock at the gate, and the State of Israel should never be taken for granted.
It is a privilege and honor to live in Jerusalem, Israel for the last 15 years, and I can't think of any other place on the planet where I would wish to raise my daughter Raphaela.
It is a daily struggle, the enemies constantly knock at the gate, and the State of Israel should never be taken for granted.
Thursday, April 19, 2012
On the way home from Gan yesterday, Raphaela and I walked through the Nayot Park near our house, where we saw two Israeli policemen on horseback. Perhaps a regular sight in New York City, this was a special treat for both of us, and we went over to pet the horses, animals who seemed super-sized and genetically engineered to grow larger than an IDF tank.
I forgot that Raphaela was holding a sandwich, and as she went to pet one of the horses (whose head alone was bigger than all of my child), the horse snapped up the sandwich and ate it. Then it did the most extraordinary thing: the horse gave Raphaela a gentle kiss on her cheek, to thank her for the food.
My brave animal-loving daughter did not even flinch, and in fact spend the rest of the afternoon and evening begging me to take her back to see the horses. I am only sorry that I did not video tape the event.
I forgot that Raphaela was holding a sandwich, and as she went to pet one of the horses (whose head alone was bigger than all of my child), the horse snapped up the sandwich and ate it. Then it did the most extraordinary thing: the horse gave Raphaela a gentle kiss on her cheek, to thank her for the food.
My brave animal-loving daughter did not even flinch, and in fact spend the rest of the afternoon and evening begging me to take her back to see the horses. I am only sorry that I did not video tape the event.
The Downside of Therapy
Today I had the second appointment with the Parenting Consultant, because as a mother (and not just as a single parent) I believe that it could only help myself and Raphaela if I had an objective voice to help me asses certain decisions for my daughter - like Gan for next year - and to give me more tools to deal with the Terrible Twos.
I understand the rationale, the more you know about the mother and her childhood, the more you understand the origin of her choices and coping mechanisms. I understand that the consultant comes from a background as a therapist, and that she approaches her clients with the traditional Freudian "Tell me about your mother..."
But after today, I remember why I put my therapy on hold several years ago: put simply, I need help to create a plan in which I take care of my daughter without sacrificing my own identity and sanity. I need practical information on how to diffuse the occasional tantrum, how to encourage Raphaela to explore and grow while setting important boundaries.
I do NOT need to rehash every excruciating detail of my difficult childhood. I do NOT need a virtual stranger to make comments which make me feel like an incompetent mother and a terrible human being who deserves to be alone. I most certainly do not want this woman to rip open many old and painful wounds, and then cut me off by saying, "I'm sorry, our time is up for today."
I spent the rest of the day 'processing' our session, and quite frankly, feeling like s**t about myself, not wanting contact with other human beings. Before our next meeting, I am going to make it clear to the Parenting Consultant that while I appreciate her approach, it is not working for me, and it is not fulfilling the purpose I intended. I would like to continue to work with her somewhere in the middle, somewhere between trauma and light conversation.
I understand the rationale, the more you know about the mother and her childhood, the more you understand the origin of her choices and coping mechanisms. I understand that the consultant comes from a background as a therapist, and that she approaches her clients with the traditional Freudian "Tell me about your mother..."
But after today, I remember why I put my therapy on hold several years ago: put simply, I need help to create a plan in which I take care of my daughter without sacrificing my own identity and sanity. I need practical information on how to diffuse the occasional tantrum, how to encourage Raphaela to explore and grow while setting important boundaries.
I do NOT need to rehash every excruciating detail of my difficult childhood. I do NOT need a virtual stranger to make comments which make me feel like an incompetent mother and a terrible human being who deserves to be alone. I most certainly do not want this woman to rip open many old and painful wounds, and then cut me off by saying, "I'm sorry, our time is up for today."
I spent the rest of the day 'processing' our session, and quite frankly, feeling like s**t about myself, not wanting contact with other human beings. Before our next meeting, I am going to make it clear to the Parenting Consultant that while I appreciate her approach, it is not working for me, and it is not fulfilling the purpose I intended. I would like to continue to work with her somewhere in the middle, somewhere between trauma and light conversation.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Monday, April 16, 2012
My Little Sabra
Over Chol Hamoed, I made a point of scheduling a field trip every morning, followed by lunch, naps for Mommy and Raphaela, and then a trip to the park.
One day, a group of older children were playing a fairly aggressive game of soccer, and Raphaela desperately wanted to join in with "the guys." They ignored her for the most part, and once (by accident) hit her hard on the back with a misguided kick of the soccer ball.
Raphaela immediately asked to go home. With a determined look on her face, she retrieved her "Dora" ball from the playroom, and informed me that she was now ready to return to the park, armed with her determination, and her own sports equipment.
I worry less these days about her being able to take care of herself in Israeli society, and I so admire her inner strength and character.
One day, a group of older children were playing a fairly aggressive game of soccer, and Raphaela desperately wanted to join in with "the guys." They ignored her for the most part, and once (by accident) hit her hard on the back with a misguided kick of the soccer ball.
Raphaela immediately asked to go home. With a determined look on her face, she retrieved her "Dora" ball from the playroom, and informed me that she was now ready to return to the park, armed with her determination, and her own sports equipment.
I worry less these days about her being able to take care of herself in Israeli society, and I so admire her inner strength and character.
Saturday, April 14, 2012
Chametz Blues
Wouldn't you know it, my kitchen is back in working chametz order, and I have nothing in the house that I care to eat...
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