Return of an Old Friend

It has been a few years since Raphaela has watched Dora the Explorer, she outgrew the fascination with a magical back pack and talking animals who live in the Amazon Rain Forest.  Dora never seemed to go to school, as she was too busy on her fantastical adventures, and her parents didn't seem to mind.

Recently, we discovered a new show called Dora in The Big City, in which Dora is a teenager, her family has moved out of their colorful isolated cabin in the Amazon and into a posh beachfront town.  Dora has one friend who is a boy (Pablo) and a group of girls who of course represent all the politically correct skin tones and ethnicities.  Dora has also traded in her magical back pack for a magical bracelet; at the end of each show, she and her friends hang out at a juice bar on the pier, and talk about how great it feels to help others.

Dora still does not seem to attend high school.

Well, yesterday we were channel hopping, and delighted in the teenage Dora show, because it was a reunion/cross-over with her old Explorer self.  Her best friend, the monkey Boots, needed help, because the Swiper the Thieving Fox stole Back Pack and Talking Map.  Which of course led to Dora and her troupe to travel by train plane and automobile, and boat, to the Amazon Rain Forest, her former home.

And of course we got to see all of her old friends: Benny the Strong Dumb Ox , Isa the Lizard Gardener, Tiko the Gay English speaking squirrel, Big Red Chicken, Roberto the Robot, etc.  They hadn't changed a bit, and I found myself getting choked up as well.

What impressed me most was that the fox not only acknowledged his stealing ways, but he also showed genuine remorse and helped locate the items.  A redemption of sort for the character, except for that brief moment when he contemplated grabbing Dora's magical bracelet.

At the end of the show, after they did the stupid kid Dora dance and sang of a mash up of the new and old series song, all the new and old characters had a sleepover in Dora's TARDIS-like tree house (bigger on the inside) in her backyard, in the Big City.  As Dora said, and as I concurred, "We were all having such a wonderful time together and getting along so well, I didn't want it to end."

As the screen faded to black, Boots the Monkey started to tell the story of how he and Dora accidentally turned Benny into a potato.

That was one of my favorite episodes...

Observing the World At Six

One of the most amazing and more subtle elements of parenting is watching your child understand the world in a deeper, wider and more abstract way.

Raphaela and I had a conversation about Oscar the Grouch, from Sesame Street.  She asked me how he can walk if he is stuck in a garbage can, and where does he keep all his things.  And most important, how does Oscar go to the bathroom?

I explained that Oscar the Grouch's garbage can utilizes Time Lord technology, IE that it is "bigger on the inside." Just like the Doctor has bedrooms and a swimming pool in his TARDIS, Oscar has all the room he needs in his garbage pail home.  The explanation sat perfectly with Raphaela.

Later that day, we were reading the children's classic, "Go Dog Go," a work of literature that talks about Geopolitics, diversity and Dating Protocol underneath its simple exterior.  Raphaela asked me why the girl dog always seems to be angry at the boy dog, after he says, "I do not like that hat...Goodbye!"

Raphaela observed, "I mean, it's just a hat. Who cares if he doesn't like it?"

I explained that when the girl dog asks the boy dog if he likes her hat, what she is really asking is, "Do you like me?" And when the boy dog says he does not like the hat, but then takes a souvenir from said hat, the girl dog gets angry because the boy dog does not have enough courage to say he likes her.  And it doesn't seem to matter if these dogs meet on the street, at the ski Chalet, or at the Big Dog Party.

I also take the opportunity to point out that it is OK and in fact laudable that the girl dog takes the initiative in talking to (and asking out) the boy dog.

Of course at the end of the book, at the Big Dog Party, the girl dog is wearing the most fancy and beautiful and tempting hat the boy dog has ever seen.  Then the boy dog can say with gusto, "Oh yes, I do like that hat. I like that party hat."

When Raphaela asked me why the girl dog got into the boy dog's car and they drove away together after his enthusiastic response, I told her they were having a "hmm...play date." 

It's a little early for the sex talk, I think.

Is it almost over? Anyone want candy? Will the blue dye destroy my hair?

Yes, I am costumed as the Doctor Who TARDIS; my hair, lips and nails are blue and yes, that is a Sonic Screwdriver I am holding in my hand.  Great holiday.

When Raphaela saw the Mishloach Manot [Gifts of food, with an 105% sugar content and every variation of candy one can imagine]  from her class mates, she literally cried out of joy.  Her, along with the dentists across Israel, who will reap the benefits of this particular tradition in the days and weeks to come.

I would be remiss if I did not relay this story which perhaps encapsulates the truest story of Purim, and that is sacrifice and love for others.  On the way to our family Purim feast today, the last in the longest series of holiday events ever, we passed by a synagogue near our house.  Along the entire sidewalk stood various men and woman asking for charity, one of the four major commandments of the holiday. (The fifth being, Thou shalt get drunk.)

Carrying only the bare minimum, I felt terrible that I had not brought my wallet with me, and apologized profusely.  One of the women standing there said, "My children do not have Mishloach Monaot this year." Without hesitation, Raphaela reached into the bag she was carrying, which contained a selection of some of her favorite candy gifts of the day.  She pulled out a large package of cookies, handed it to the woman and said, "We have so much junk food at home, more than we need. Now your children can be happy too."

Mardi Gras Oops Purim 2015

 

 

In the Israeli Kindergarten school system, Purim begins two weeks before the actual holiday, with Hat Day, Pajamas Day, King and Queens Day, Inside Out Day etc.  The last day of real school, they have Costume Day, in which children all over the country can be seen walking through the streets in festive dress of sorts, culminating in the kids being sent home earlier than usual because they are too hopped up on sugar to be manageable to their teachers.

 

Then begins vacation, a three day affair which includes, you guessed it, more costumes.  The only real outfit that we bought this year was the bumble bee, which Raphaela wore on Costume Day.  The other costumes were gifts from others, combined with recyclable parts from previous years.  Every year we have a custom of going to the Jerusalem Biblical Zoo in costume, and luckily I found a stash of Purim accessories, so my daughter will not Heaven Forbid wear a repeat costume. 

 

It's like we are on a cruise ship, where you change outfits for every activity and every meal.

 

Not including of course the children's party and reading of the Story of Esther at the synagogue tomorrow night, or the feast at family friends on Friday.

 

As well, I have worn costume hats and make-up for the past two weeks, because seeing this holiday through the joy and wonderment of a little girl's eyes makes it all worth while.  For the zoo, at my daughter's request, I will be a monarch butterfly, and for the feast on Friday, I will transform into the Tardis (Doctor Who), complete with temporary blue hair dye.

 

Because you only as young as you feel inside, and I plan on aging well.

 

Post-script: I will now share my most precious Purim secret IE how to get quality costumes for almost no money.  Every year, the day after Halloween in the States, I go online with Raphaela to several good sites, and she picks out her preferred outfit for Purim. I ship it to my parents in Boston, and then they have three to four months to get it to me, either by sending it as a package or with friends who are visiting Israel. I pay about $10 a year, yesterday a friend told me that she paid $1 on a site, the day after Halloween.

Seder 2014

This year the Seder illustrated the vast developmental difference between 3.5 and 4.5 years old.  While Raphaela was certainly not shy last year at our friends' Seder, this year she walked into their beautiful home with confidence, chatting up all the adults and playing with the boy a little older than her, without checking in with her Mommy.

This year she stood up tall and proud and recited the four questions, and in a booming voice declared the Ten Plagues without hesitation. I couldn't have been prouder, given my daughter's history of performance anxiety.

There was great joy in Jerusalem when she found the Afikoman I had hidden, and when she knew she would get a Pessach gift.  (Truth be told, I had already ordered her present and it has yet to arrive - an official Doctor Who Sonic Screwdriver - and Raphaela was happy with her smaller present, not knowing what is yet to arrive.)

We got home around one am, and Raphaela was wide awake, insisting upon setting up our own Elijah's Cup in the kitchen, so Elijah would come visit us as well on this magical night. 

"Mommy, Elijah came last night while we were sleeping and drank from our cup!  Maybe we should leave it out for him another night, in case he gets thirsty again and happens to be in the neighborhood."  Reported Raphaela at six am, after less than five hours of sleep.

Purim Costume Parade 2014

The Gan Purim Party, Friday

Purim Day One, Sunday

 

 

 

Shushan Purim, Day Two

 

 

 

The beautiful bride received a large dowry of candies and treats.

Back to Gan and routine tomorrow, just in time for the Marathon on Friday.

One of our favorite books these days is "Emily Brown and the Elephant Emergency," which features a girl with an exceptional imagination and her favorite stuffed animal, a bunny named Stanley.  This book, part of the Emily Brown series, particularly pokes fun at Helicopter Parenting as well, the graphics are brilliant, and it makes for a good read for the adult and the child.

It also helps that the book can be found online (YouTube), read by our  favorite actor and the Tenth Doctor, David Tennant.  (I fully admit to the celebrity crush.)

This morning as I was getting dressed, Raphaela sat on the bed flipping through Emily Brown, and I said, "Emily Brown has a special friend named Stanley."

Raphaela thought for a minute and then replied, "And Stanley has a special friend in Emily Brown."

Jerusalem Marathon I

After my Great Uncle died, his 86 year old sister Ida wrote to me and told me that I should not take a single day or a single person for granted.  And it got me thinking.

Raphaela is now four and a half, and it is time I took my body back.  It has been five years since I was running regularly, and two years since I last ran the Jerusalem Marathon.  I am quite tired of looking at that little bit of belly fat left over from my pregnancy, when I know as a Chiropractor I could actually do something about it, make it go away with consistent effort and hard work.

So I went online and signed up for the 10K Jerusalem Marathon.  I sat down and wrote up a calendar, showing me how many days I had to train properly.  I pulled my second-hand Treadmill out of storage and stuck it in the only available space in my house, taking up all the floor space in my bedroom.

When Raphaela saw the Treadmill, she assumed it was a fancy clothing hanger, because it had served that purpose for far too long.  Now, my daughter will be proud of me when she sees me run, victorious, healthy and happy.

I have devised both short term and long term goals for my training:
1.  Deadline, Purim (16/3/14):  I want to be able to show off my legs with pride in my Tardis Purim costume.
2.  Deadline, Marathon (21/3/14):  I don't care if I finish in professional time, but I am going to run that Marathon without pain or ungainly effort, cross the finish line and get my medal.
3.  Deadline, Bro's Wedding (13/7/14):  Must look smoking in the family pictures, as they will be on display for time immemorial.
4.  Deadline, 46th Birthday (24/7/14):  Beach day, one word:  Bikini

Truth be told, I am my own worst critic.  When I look in the mirror, I think that I look slightly pregnant, when I don't.  When I run 4 km after a break of two years, I criticize myself because I could have done more, once upon a time.

So my fifth and most important goal is to realize that the outside world makes women feel like S**t for no apparent reason, and I do not have to be a size zero to love myself, and be considered a sexy and date-able Mom.

I am not taking myself for granted anymore.

The Little Doctor Who

When we were little and stuck inside the car on endless road trips, ["Mom, he's putting his feet on my side of the seat!" "Mom, she's staring at me and making faces." "Dad, I have to throw up." ] my parents used to tell us that if we blew really hard, we could change the traffic light from red to green.

My brother and I would wait for their signal, and then we would gather out deepest breath, and delight in the fact that we personally had changed the light to green.

Every morning on the way to Gan, Raphaela takes her "Sonic Screwdriver" - a la Doctor Who, but actually a large paint brush - and uses it to change the pedestrian signal from red to green.  She waits for my ok, points her Sonic Screwdriver at the intersection and makes a loud beep-like sound.  Lo and behold, she assists all those standing and waiting to walk across the street, bringing her joy as well. "Good job, I did it!"

Open Mouth, Insert Foot

We watch Doctor Who, though when I feel it is inappropriately creepy or scary for a four year old, I do shut it off immediately.  But it is fair to say that both Raphaela and I are fans of the show.

This past Shabbat at lunch, Raphaela called the husband of our hostess a Potato Head, because sadly, he did look a little like a walking potato, referencing one of the characters on Doctor Who (Strax) to whom he bore a similarity.

I was not paying particular attention until I heard the man say, "Are you calling me a Potato Head?!" I attempted damage control, trying to explain that she was talking about a television program, but alas, not much can be done about the honest outbursts of a four year old.

The First Question

For years I have read the psychology books, consulted with SMBC friends and memorized a child-friendly version of the IUI story, ready to be told when Raphaela began asking questions about her origins and her family.

Until recently the topic, "Who/Where is my father?", it had never come up, and my daughter has proven herself more than capable of expressing all of her curiosity and concerns. 

Having reached the age of four, that question still has not been asked directly.  One evening over the Succot holiday, where she and I basically spent 24/7 together and where there was no structure of Gan, I saw Raphaela sink into a chair, and she seemed...sad.  I asked her what was wrong and she said, "I want a father.  I want a father that is just mine."

After all my mental preparation for this moment and all my skill at empathy and communication, I failed at the task. I tried to tell her "story" in a positive way, ending with the promise that she is loved and will always have loving and supportive people around her.  It felt hollow to me, because inside I wanted to cry;  I should never have assumed that the lack of a father was a non-issue just because it had never came up in conversation.

I wanted to hold her and rock her and assure her, "It's OK my love, I will find you a father."  But that would have been unfair to both of us, to create expectations far beyond my ability or control.

The next day, Raphaela said to me, "Mommy, it's OK that I don't have a father because you don't have one either, right?"  Again, I was at a loss for words, how to explain that in fact I don't have one father, but rather two, that I am part of the typical divorce phenomenon that now plagues modern life and far too many families.

Later that day, after I had given her some stickers, she came over to me and said, "Look Mommy, I got these wonderful stickers from my father!"

 I know that Raphaela knows that she is loved:  I observed her playing with her Barbie dolls and saying, "I love my Mommy, she gives me lots of food and lots of hugs and she loves me as big as Space."

And yet, here I stand, speechless in the face of the First Question.

Empathy

Raphaela has always shown a depth of kindness and concern for others, and in the past, her nursery teachers have mentioned that she is "affectionate and sensitive." 

I never liked the word "sensitive," in my head it implies a fragile egg-shell quality, one which makes a person so reactive as to be inapproachable.  Some members of my family still believe this to be true about me, and often sugar coat rather than present me with straight forward honesty.

Note:  While pregnant, with a double dose of estrogen and other hormones coursing through my body, I did not become that bitchy emotional stereotype.  Actually each day brought more happiness and peace of mind; every time I threw up I thought to myself and smiled, "This means that it's working..."

Years of maturation, life experience and with the help of therapy, my inner strength and force of personality has managed to emerge, and I am happier and more balanced for it.  And while certain situations still make me feel nervous and attacked, that former me, the pushover introvert that I was throughout high school, has been permanently exorcised.

Today Raphaela and I watched a video on the New York Times site, "A Day in the Life of a Piano."  A series of stop-gap images, the trailer for the five minute clip warned that we should have tissues prepared for the conclusion (spoilers!).

Indeed, at that shocking moment, I burst out in tears and Raphaela, so horrified by the scene, ran out of the room sobbing.  Both of us "sensitive," and both us in extreme empathy for a lone piano on the sidewalk in New York City.

I would not have shown her that video had I known the ending.

Lazy Days of Summer

With the routine of Gan behind us and camp beginning tomorrow, I have begun to feel more relaxed, even though my day-to-day work schedule has not changed all that dramatically;  as well unfortunately, at the moment there is no real vacation - small or otherwise - destined for me and Raphaela before the end of the Summer, so I will take what serenity I can get.

As a consequence, I have become less diligent about a strict schedule meal times and bed times, and Raphaela stays awake later than usual.  This evening, I allowed her to go to sleep after watching a relatively less scary re-run of a Doctor Who episode, the show in which River Song regenerates and Hitler is locked in a pantry.  (Isn't science fiction wonderful?)  Raphaela seemed particularly moved and impressed by the burst of regenerative energy, and then showed me a scratch she had received at some point today while playing outside.  My daughter suggested that I use special healing energy to fix her small wound.

Since I use certain energy treatments with my clients in the Chiropractic clinic, I gave Raphaela the quickie toddler course on Reiki and Meditation, instructing her to place her hands together, breathe deeply and imagine the energy of the sun and stars.  She was able to grasp the basic concepts, and when I put my hands next to hers, I asked her what this energy felt like.

She answered, "It feels like Love and strawberries."

Sitting with Raphaela and discussing various professions, she noted that I was a doctor and then added, "I am a doctor too."  When I asked her what kind of doctor, she replied with a smile, "Doctor Who!"

Reading Material

When my brother and I were young, we would eat our breakfast with cereal boxes in front of our noses, fascinating and essential reading. 

Raphaela and I have begun a new tradition with our morning cereal:  I bought a 2012-2013 calendar from the Metropolitan Museum in New York, and each day we change the picture to see and learn about the day's work of art, a sampling of the vast collection of the place that was my second home when I lived in The City.

Yesterday featured a 1904 Stickley Brothers Cabinet, made of oak wood cedar and mahogany, and with two beautiful stained glass windows for the doors.  They don't make furniture like this anymore, and I certainly could not find a pure wood closet at the local Israeli IKEA.

I asked Raphaela what she would place inside a cabinet like this, and I taught her a little about the art of stained glass.  Then Raphaela said, "I like this so much.  Mommy, after you drop me off at Gan tomorrow, can you go buy me a cabinet like this?"

Sure, my child, as soon as I step into my Tardis...

One Month Before My Birthday...

Last night I dreamt that I had gone to the hospital to visit a friend who was in labor and about to give birth.  While I was standing there, I went into labor myself, and gave birth to a happy red-headed infant, whom I named Jenny. [Possibly a reference to a Doctor Who episode]

This child was clearly conceived through immaculate conception, because I remember feeling quite surprised that I had apparently been pregnant and didn't realize it.  Both my mother and my grandmother (Rest in Peace) came to see me, and my grandmother was informing all those who would listen that this birth represented very bad timing, because I have donated all of Raphaela's smaller clothing, including the new-baby stuff, and because I have also donated or sold all of her baby accouterments, like her crib and stroller and standing bath and infant car seat.

[In fact, as I get closer to my birthday in real life, the donation of these items will take place some time this week, once I have found a worthy and legitimate charitable organization in Jerusalem.]

As it was a Friday morning, [Raphaela was born on a Friday morning in real life] I nursed Baby Jenny and tucked her into a cradle that looked more like a cardboard box, and lit Shabbat candles;  once she fell asleep, I resumed the previous dream, in which I was traveling for the summer with a group and we were trying to decide upon an amusement park.  I wanted to ride on the largest and most scary roller coaster.

As this group of my peers were arguing over the itinerary, I realized that I could not abandon Jenny even if she was unplanned and most inconvenient.  I smiled when I thought about Raphaela as an older sister, and laughed at the idea of raising not one but two girls.  I told my friends, "I have to go back for Jenny!"

And I woke up.