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...

Happy Holidays

Today I started planning our Thanksgiving dinner, and I couldn't be more excited.  Thanksgiving stands as one of my favorite holidays, American, Israeli, Jewish and otherwise.  In my mind it represents all those family gatherings at my grandmother's Z"L, the amazing smell when you walked in the door, the annual fight over which movie to see, the Macy's Day parade and the time spent bonding with cousins.

Living in Israel, we mostly ignore the American and the non-Jewish holidays, New Year's comes and goes without notice, except that I know that I will have to prepare my annual taxes around that time.  This year, however, Raphaela seems to have taken more notice of the global community.

She asked me why we don't celebrate Halloween, and I told her that we have Purim instead; I didn't mention that Halloween commemorates pogroms against Jews.  I remember, growing up in New York as a child how we spent that night:  we locked all the doors and windows, and closed the shades.  When the door bell rang, we ignored it, and the next morning, we hoped that the area where we lived had not been vandalized in any major way.  It was the one night out of the year that our quietly anti-Semitic neighbors had full reign.

It has apparently changed, evidenced by the huge amount of friends on Facebook - those of the Jewish faith and of all levels of religiosity- who posted pictures of their family fully costumed and celebrating Halloween on some level.

As far as Christmas, Raphaela thinks that Santa Clause and the Easter Bunny are fast friends of Diego and Dora, as they appear on the (Hebrew translated) cartoon to deliver presents and rescue animals.  Every year I go to a Christmas classic music/carols concert at the International YMCA in Jerusalem, but have not taken Raphaela because she cannot stay up that late into the night.  When she gets older, I may give her the option of coming with me instead of staying home with a baby sitter, though I doubt she will know the words to any of the Christmas carols or Handel's Messiah.

(The Tooth Fairy, however, is real.)

Our Chanukah rituals revolve around candle lighting with friends and family, eating doughnuts and taking day trips, rather than the rampant materialism that characterizes the season.  I am grateful to raise my daughter that way.

Ask any parent of children in Israel and they will say that there is far too much vacation from school for Jewish holidays as it is, we don't need to add in the other religions to the mix.

Thar She Blows

Probably because of early exposure to the concept through Dora the Explorer, Raphaela has a fascination/fear with the phenomenon of volcanoes.  She has asked the question more times than I can count, "Do we or anyone we love live near an active volcano?" In response I found a current map of active volcanoes online, printed it out for her, and we reference it often.

To our friends in Singapore, she asked me to write them an email, clarifying the issue, to which they graciously responded, "We do not live near an active volcano.  Don't worry Raphaela, we will stay safe."

While I have not ridiculed her mild obsession, I try to down play the potential ripple;  I want Raphaela living in joy in the present, not worrying about what natural disasters could afflict us in the future.  Living in Israel, the life-and-death cloud hangs over us, a constant reminder that we are surrounded by 22 Arab states that want to wipe us off the map. My daughter doesn't need another potential enemy from Mother Nature or the Mayan Armageddon.

However, the teacher has become the student.

Yesterday I had a new patient, a visiting scientist from southern Italy.  In the process of the medical intake interview, I found this question slipping out of my mouth:  "Do you live near an active volcano?" (According to our volcano map, Italy is chock full of potential lava danger.)

I know that Raphaela would have been proud of me in that moment.

The SuperStorm that Wasn't

Tuesday night

Raphaela's ballet recital has not been canceled, so we brave the dust storm to get to the studio, and I take tons of pictures and video.

"In anticipation of..." the upcoming snow storm, school has been canceled for Wednesday and the mayor of Jerusalem announces that as of 9 am the following morning, the two main roads going in and out of Jerusalem - Route 443 and Route 1 - will be shut off to traffic.

I heat up the water and give Raphaela a bath, wondering if it will be her last bath for the next few days.

Wednesday

The weather report says that the snow will only start around two in the afternoon, so we celebrate a snow day without snow.  I heat up the water and take a shower, and cook a bunch of cold-weather appropriate foods, and check email, thinking that it may be the last opportunity for the next few days.

Around one pm, Raphaela and I go into bed for a nap, and I promise her that when we wake up, there will be a white landscape.  Thunder and lightning threaten as we close our eyes.  As soon as Raphaela wakes up from her nap, she asks in a frenzy, "Quick check!  Do we have water and electricity?!"

The grass outside shows barely a sprinkle of snow, children everywhere are disappointed they cannot make a snow man, and parents everywhere cannot understand why school was canceled.

I heat up the water and give Raphaela a bath, just in case.

Thursday

We wake up to watery icy sludge on the street, and the Jerusalem Municipality announces that classes will begin at 10 am.  Raphaela, who has recently split open her chin in a fall at school, decides that she does not want to slip on the ice and she would rather stay home.  Besides, if she  goes outside she will have to wear pants, and HRH the Princess simply does not wear pants. It is undignified.

I don't care one way or the other, all my patients have canceled through the weekend.  Instead, I heat up the water and take a shower, wash the dishes in the sink, back up my iPhone and throw in a load of laundry, religiously following the Girl Scout model IE "Be Prepared."

Slogging through the slush, Raphaela and I arrived at her Gan, with half the parents keeping their children home because of dangerous road conditions, and the teachers shouting and freaking out because of the danger of the streets and sidewalks.  I assure Raphaela that her teacher is not shouting at her, they are just all angry at the rain and the snow.

I consider not taking Raphaela to English class today, because there is no way in hell my car is moving out of the driveway.  I have parked in a spot that hopefully this year, when the "real snow" arrives tonight and tomorrow, it will not be buried under a fallen tree like last year.

A normal night IE bath and dinner and a little bit of Dora the Explorer and surprise NOT, school has been canceled for tomorrow in anticipation of the "real storm" that thus far has eluded the esteemed weather forecasters.

Friday Morning

The snow was supposed to have begun around four am, at 8:30 am there isn't even rain, never mind the Storm to End All Storms.  I haven't worked for three days now, Raphaela has begun to go stir crazy inside the house and away from her friends and her normal routine.

The Municipality damn well better make up these lost days of classes somewhere along the way.
At the very least, these days of bogus vacation have granted me the opportunity to spend time with my daughter, and appreciate the small and yet essential conveniences in life.

(The saddest little snow man in Jerusalem.)

Birth Day!

6:15 am

Raphaela:  Mommy, am I five years old yet?
Mommy:  Yes you are.
Raphaela:  Wow, when I went to sleep last night I was only four, and now I am five!
(Notices that entire house is decorated in Disney Princess and Dora birthday theme)
Raphaela: What a beautiful job the princesses and Dora did while I was sleeping, I will have to write them a thank you note.
Mommy:  (grumbling under my breath)  Someday, my dear, we are going to have serious discussion about the identity of the Tooth Fairy.

7:00 am

Raphaela: Mommy, may I have a special birthday breakfast today?
Mommy:  Does Cheerios with milk count as special?
Raphaela:  (look of death)
Mommy:  How about Cheerios with CHOCOLATE MILK?
Raphaela:  Hooray!

7:30 am

Raphaela:  Mommy, I want to give tzedakah [Hebrew for charity] today in school.
Mommy:  Wonderful idea!
Raphaela:  Can you give me five coins, because now I am five years old?

1:30 pm

After a morning of working, the preparation of the cupcake platter for Raphaela's mini-birthday party at her English group.

 

 

 

3 pm

 

Party time!

War Report from Jerusalem

Upon arriving home, I noted that the two eggs in the pigeon's nest in our window had hatched, and there sat two somewhat large chicks, being tended by their parents.  Since then, one of the two chicks has lifted its wings and learned to fly;  his sibling adamantly refuses to budge from the window sill.

It has been almost amusing, the perpetual "conversation" between the adult pigeon and this baby, which probably translates to, "Come on already, your brother/sister figured it out, it's not scary.  Get out of the house and get a job..."  And yet in the last week there has been no progress, the chick is staying put.

Watching Dora last night on cable television, the show was regularly interrupted with notifications of bombings taking place in real time throughout the south, a free service courtesy of the government.

I get it, it is scary out there, and now more than ever for those of us living in Israel during a war.  Last night we both went to sleep early in an attempt to finish off our jet lag, and I woke up with a terrified start in the early hours of the morning, having just dreamt that I got separated from Raphaela during a missile attack, playing out the horrible possibilities as a parent.  I never really fell back asleep after that, my heart was racing too fast and I did not want to close my eyes and replay that scene in my head.

Then, while walking Raphaela to camp today, we stopped at the usual spot to feed the street cats for whom we have taken responsibility.  An Israeli soldier sat on the wall, he could not have been more than 22 or 23 years old, unlit cigarette dangling from his fingers.  I told Raphaela to thank him, to acknowledge that he is putting his life in jeopardy to keep us secure.  I asked the soldier where he was stationed, and he told us that he was waiting for his ride to the army base, and after that he would be placed on the border of Gaza in the South of Israel.

With tears in my eyes, I wished him well and told him to "stay safe," as if he or I have any control over the matter.

For a while now, Raphaela has stopped watching Dora and Diego; honestly, most children her age find it boring and beneath their intellectual level.  But every once in a while Raphaela will ask to see an episode, like visiting an old friend.

During a recent show where Swiper the Fox predictably tries to steal someone's important something and ruin their day, Raphaela turned to me and said solemnly, "Mommy, Swiper is MEAN." (As if she was realizing it for the first time....)

Lesson learned, now can we move onto another program?

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

One of Raphaela's baby sitters is a sweet 20 year old  in "Sherut Leumi," the two-year  army volunteer program that many religious women choose in Israel rather than the normal army service.  I was explaining to Raphaela that her sitter was "like a soldier in the Israeli army," in that she had committed to national service and to helping others in the country, "even if she does not carry a gun."

Raphaela -having learned in Gan about various famous and successful army operations - became indignant and asked, "But if I grow up and want to join the real army and carry a gun, am I allowed? I want my own rifle!"

After answering in the affirmative, I reminded her that she has until 18, and that the discussion of options can remain open.

Ironic and sad,  that in America the NRA is trying to temper the public reaction to open weapons, and my little Kindergarten girl already knows more than most about war and guns.

Burn Bread Crumbs Burn

I am ashamed to admit that the skills I honed in Jewish Girl Scout sleepover camp have become rusty.

With great anticipation I explained to Raphaela this morning that we would not require assistance in the burning of the chametz, since I was considered somewhat of a fire expert; in the days that setting up camp, bathing au natural in a nearby lake, building a tent and igniting a campfire that could burn down the forest was second nature.

We took our loot from the previous night's search and found a suitable spot in the parking lot downstairs, and I included some newspaper with the bread crumbs to provide kindling.  The fire burned the newspaper only and completely ignored the chametz.

I added in more kindling and watched with satisfaction as the newspaper dissolved in the flames.  But when I  pushed away some of the ash, there sat the bread, fresh as ever, mocking me..

A neighbor, a chronic smoker whose coughing acts as my alarm in the early morning, came by with his cigarette and lighter and offered a few of his tried and true Chametz Burning tips.

Then I ran out of matches.  The pyromaniac in me was feeling quite frustrated.
To paraphrase the Torah, "And Lo, there was fire and the Chametz was not consumed."

Harry cruised by and casually sniffed the charred area, and Raphaela screamed out, "Harry, be careful!  Where there's smoke, there's fire!"

After building a more than respectable bonfire, completely surrounding the crumbs, Raphaela and I were able to do the Dora The Explorer victory dance ["We did it, hooray!" with the appropriate hand flailing and gluteal shaking] and continue on our day.

For the next ten hours or so we will exist in that terrible transition zone, in which our house is Pessach ready and yet, "Mommy, I'm hungry.  There is nothing to eat!"

On the Eighth Day of Chanukah

5:00     With no Gan and no Chanukah camp today, and no patients scheduled, despite there being absolutely no reason wake up early, Raphaela and Harry "The Highlander" wake up earlier than usual, raring to go.  With the rain pouring down from the heavens, there is also no particular reason to leave the house today, and Harry will spend the rest of the day begging by the door, thinking that those little bits of sunshine in between the clouds are reason enough to attempt to go outside.

8:00     We have already eaten breakfast and had the hot chocolate I was saving for later, in desperation, I have revealed my secret weapon to Raphaela, the project for this afternoon.  Raphaela will spend much of the morning hugging the box and asking, essentially, "Are we there yet?"

8:30  With the briefest break in the rain, Raphaela and I bundle up and run outside to feed the street cats;  poor things, fur matted down and looking slightly miserable, they seem grateful for the one meal they might receive today.

10:00  We brave the rain and rent the latest (real person) Smurfs movie, a parable which questions Nature vs. Nurture and the usefulness of surprise birthday parties; as well as sugar coating the difficulties facing step-families, it features (what I am assuming)lots of CGI. Unless of course the Smurfs and hyper intelligent talking cats and ducks are real and are active members of the Acting Guild.

Lunch  In which I learn that when eating pasta shaped like animals, one does not mix species.  Elephants with elephants, lions with lions, turtles with turtles and giraffes with giraffes, like in the Ark.

12:30-14:30  Chanukah Nap.  Meanwhile, the sun seems to be pushing through the clouds, though the weather and the temperature outside are not much more welcoming than this morning.

15:00  The day's surprise and special project, a do-it yourself kid friendly confectioners kit, in keeping with the week's theme of Chanukah and the other miracle, Chocolate.

16:30-17:30  Dora and Diego on television, Lord bless them.

17:45  Bath time IE the first time either of us have taken off our pajamas since yesterday evening.

18:30  Dinner followed by story time, in which we read a new favorite of Raphaela's, an Israeli children's book about a bully in Gan who finally gets put in his place by the new kid, who doesn't understand why the other children and their teacher have been letting him get away with this crap for so long.

19:45  Bed time, and I smile in the knowledge that tomorrow Raphaela returns to Gan. 

Raphaela , No Swiping!

I have begun to understand the educational value of the Dora character, Swiper the Fox.

When Raphaela was in Gan, she rarely took her mini-backpack to school, but now in English Camp, she not only fills it every day with her snacks and her toys, but she also uses it as a security blanket of sorts;  apparently, according to the staff at the camp, she wears the backpack all day and they have stopped suggesting that she hang it up like all the other children.

Every afternoon when we return home, I ask Raphaela to empty her bag so we can talk about her day, and so I can anticipate the disastrous clean-up job of her lunch box.  Inevitably, my daughter has brought home a souvenir from the camp:  a brightly colored spoon, a piece of a puzzle, a hair clip or bow.  And every day I ask her to whom these small objects belong and Raphaela will answer consistently, "I asked Tania if I could take it home and she said 'yes'!"

And the next morning I surreptitiously sneak that object into my pocket and return it to the camp without Raphaela noticing.

My issues and criticism of Dora revolved around that Swiper personality, the Kleptomaniac Kid who seemed driven to steal and swipe, who every show apologized and said he would not do so again, and lo and behold, steals and swipes the very next show.  I felt that it taught children that it's OK to engage in bad behavior as long as you apologize each time, and that if you perpetuate the action long enough, people around you will accept it as part of the natural order.

I realize now that children this age like to snag mementos, even knowing that it might be improper to sneak the object into your backpack when you think no one is looking.  As a mother, I must teach Raphaela a value system which includes "Don't Swipe or Steal," while allowing for normative behavior.

Only in Jerusalem

Always educational, in anticipation of Yom Yerushalaim, Raphaela's nursery has begun to teach the children the history of Jerusalem, especially the Old City.  Surrounded by a wall, the Old City hosts eight gates, and walking home, Raphaela and I could only name four of them.  Because I detest ignorance, I thought we might go home and use the resources of the Internet to find our answer, and then we passed by a local book store.  Inspired, I took my daughter inside and asked the employees if they had any books about Jerusalem, and/or if they happened to know offhand the names of all the gates.

With the help of the staff of the book store and another customer, in a friendly yet competitive trivia contest, Raphaela and I were able to walk away with the complete information.

Raphaela's favorite gate is "Shaar Ashpot," translated from the Hebrew as The Dung (or Garbage) Gate;  named so because it is through this gate, the closest to the Western Wall, that Elijah is meant to come aridin' on his white donkey to announce the arrival of the Jewish Messiah.  Previous conquerors of the city had piled their garbage there, thinking it would prevent the resurgence of the Jewish nation and the arrival of the Talmudic Messiah.

When I asked Raphaela why it was called The Garbage Gate, her mind immediately jumped to a recent Eco-Dora episode, in which an evil octopus was polluting the oceans with trash and threatening the balance of nature under the sea.  My daughter assured me that naturally, this octopus is responsible as well for violating the walls and gates of Jerusalem.

(Raphaela also regularly reminds me that Bob the Builder is the foreman on any construction project in our area.  Who knew?)

Purim Day 2013

Taking advantage of the amazing weather, Raphaela and I went to the zoo today before our official Purim festivities.  I wore my Superman cape, and after flying around a bit, Raphaela exclaimed in admiration, "Mommy, you are so Super!"

Only in Israel can a grown-up go to the zoo in costume, and fit right in with all the other adults and children, all dressed up in honor of the day and proud to show off their Purim identities in public.

Though continuing to refuse to wear any sort of costume, Raphaela quite enjoyed seeing the animals, especially because she has developed a crush on Diego, and she aspires to be an Animal Rescuer some day.

Later, at the Purim Feast I have attended at the same family for the last 16 years, the host pulled me aside and said, "Motherhood has done wonderful things for you, I can see your inner joy on your face."

We will both sleep very well tonight, both of us exhausted from the day, and as I said to Raphaela, "Even Superman has to rest sometimes."

Chiropractic Conference, Child in Tow

Armed with a standard parental bag of tricks - snacks, activities, iPad, change of  clothing - Raphaela and I attended the semi-annual meeting of the Israel Chiropractic Society.  She was surely the youngest and cutest person there, and behaved with remarkable maturity for her three years, even allowing me to make my presentation without interruption.  When she saw other (trained) Chiropractors adjusting each other, she insisted upon joining and proceeded to perform a thoroughly convincing interpretation of the treatment she has observed in my clinic.

We had a sketchy moment when she removed her shoes and socks and started jumping the two king-size exhibition mattresses on display in the back of the room, but I figured it was the most practical way to test-drive the product, if anyone asked or disapproved.

After I was soundly elected as Vice President of the ICS (30-4 in my favor), Raphaela showed her happiness by inviting me to join her in the "We Did It" dance from Dora the Explorer.  When I spoke to the other members before the vote, I said the following,"I offer my candidacy because I know I can make a difference.  Some of you may look at the fact that I have brought my toddler to this meeting as a sign of weakness, that I have too much on my plate to take on even more responsibility.  But let me tell you, as a single mother and a committed professional I have become a most excellent multi-tasker.  What is the famous saying? 'If you want something done, give the job to a busy person.' Well, I am a very busy person."

After lunch there were more planned academic lectures, but I could not pass up the opportunity of summer weather and some of the most beautiful beaches in all of Israel.  Raphaela and I spent the entire afternoon frolicking in the soft sand and the waves of Herzeliya, and it took all my will power to leave that place of serenity and sit on the road for two hours on the way back to Jerusalem.

The best part of my day was spending it with my child, a rare treat in a week where she usually attends Gan for nine hours per day.  I think, however, that I may soon have to leave Jerusalem and find a city with a beach house;  of course once I have that exceptional view every morning, I may never go to work again.

The Gold Fish of Doom

There comes a time in every child's life when they learn the hardest lesson of all, gold fish either thrive or float fairly quickly.  I can distinctly remember the aquarium in the bedroom my brother and I shared as small kids;  we once went away for a Shabbat weekend and when we returned, the fish had somehow jumped out of the tank, must have flown gloriously for one brief moment, and then realized that there might be more oxygen outside, but there is NO water.  

Raphaela loves animals and a new pet store just opened near our house and the library.  Today we went to the store, checked out the hamsters and the birds, and took home four sprightly gold fish and a cleaner fish, to slightly increase the chances that they might live more than one month.  In fact, the owner told me quietly that they sell at the price of four fish for ten NIS, and that if one of the original four should be found napping, I am more than welcome to replace it, hopefully before Raphaela notices.

I feel conflicted, a part of me knows that Raphaela can learn the lesson of life and death in a soft way, via the doomed fish experiment. After all, their fates are sealed pretty much from the start.  On the other hand, as her mother I want to protect her from repetitive sadness.

In that case, I probably should not have gotten gold fish...

Non Snow Day

So school ended early today, and what a waste; as of 6 pm Israel Standard Time, there is no snow to be seen, only sharp winds accompanied by rain and intermittent hail stones.  A friend of mine cleverly called it "The Emporer's New Snow."

No matter, Raphaela and I spent a quality afternoon together.

While playing a game of pretend with a pair of Sloth Monkeys (Diego and Dora, don't ask...) I overheard the conversation she had with her imaginary friends:

Sloth Monkeys:  We like to eat leaves.
Raphaela:  Look, my Mommy made me tea because it is raining outside. (Pause, as if the Sloth Monkeys are responding) Yeah, my Mom is really cool!

(On the way to Gan today, as Raphaela watched me dole out some kibble to the street cats we feed every morning)

Raphaela:  You are an Animal Rescuer!
Mommy:  Sort of.  But I don't have a Magic Bag like Diego.
R:  You have a back pack like Dora.
M:  Yes.
R:  And we go on hikes and trips together.
M:  Yes.
R:  And we see animals on our trips!
M:  Yes we do.

Then Raphaela smiled and squeezed my hand tight.

Eighth Night, Eighth Light

[MY THOUGHTS AND PRAYERS GO OUT TO THE FAMILIES AND THE COMMUNITY IN NEWTOWN WHO ARE SUFFERING.  I CAN'T IMAGINE IT, THE PAIN, EVEN LIVING IN ISRAEL WHERE WE AND OUR CHILDREN ARE FUNDAMENTALLY THREATENED EVERY DAY BY HOSTILE NEIGHBORS.]

Last night, in honor of both the last night of Chanukah and a birthday, my friend invited us to his and his wife's house down the street for a casual Saturday evening celebration.  Having been unable to find a baby sitter, I decided that rather than pass up this social opportunity, I would break routine for Raphaela, bring her with me to the party (in her pajamas), and let her stay up later than usual.

When we arrived, we were the only mother-toddler in the room, and for the most part, most of the guests were female, younger and my age range, married and single, pregnant and not pregnant.  Inevitably - and not by my initiation by any means - the discussion turned to the pressure in Israel on women to have children, and the stress for "older" women in terms of fertility, which in this country means over the age of 35.

Several of the women asked me, "How do you do it, a single working mother with no real family as a back-up system on this continent?"  My answer, "I have become an amazingly efficient multi-tasker and I don't get much sleep."  I imagine that description fits most mothers of a three year old.

Several of the woman around my age asked me if Raphaela feels less-than by the other children around her because she does not have a father active in her life, and I replied that as far as I know, it has not come up in conversation for her.  In fact, several of the children in her Gan are the product of a single mother by choice, and "as long as the check clears," the Gan staff treat my daughter no differently than any other kid.

As far as insensitivity, based upon the reactions of most of the women in the room, tactlessness abounds, and it doesn't matter whether or not you are attached to a man.  I still think that my story wins ie the matchmaker who recently called me to suggest a first date, and without blinking said, "He wants children, I assume you froze your eggs, right? Unless that information is too personal..."

Raphaela has only recently begun to ask me on a consistent basis, "Where is my father," and before I have a chance to answer her, she has moved onto another topic, usually Diego the Animal Rescuer, her current crush.

As the only person under the age of 30 in the room, Raphaela received lots of attention and ate way too many snacks, and around ten pm I tried to put her down for a nap in my friend's guest room.  My daughter, however, gets super-stimulated by social situations, and so I regrettably put on our jackets and went home.  I could have stayed several hours more, surrounded by a fun and adult environment.

One woman my age, a person whom I admire for planning the most amazing single parties which I cannot usually attend, asked me privately as we were on our way to the door, "Really, how are you doing?"  I told her that in times like this, when I must choose between putting Raphaela to bed and playing with my friends, I tend to get a little sad and resentful, because I know that I need the company to maintain my own sanity.  But do I regret the fertility treatments and the birth of my child? "Not for a moment."

The Increadible Edible Mouse

For most of the eight days of Chanukah, Raphaela thankfully has full schedule at Gan, but today she had vacation, and so I planned a full and fun day.

 To truly qualify as vacation, Raphaela and I slept in, if 6:30 am counts as sleeping late.  Then we spent most of the morning at the Jerusalem Biblical Zoo, first observing the animals for real that we have come to know and love through Dora and Diego.  Raphaela eagerly jumped from area to area, naming them all: Tapir! Peeing Cotton Top Tamarin monkeys! Iguana! Crocodiles large and small! Elephants! Tigress! Linda the llama!

A large eagle in the aviary sat on the rock right next to us, chirping away, and a lemur practically walked up to me and tried to jump onto my head.

Toward the end of our visit, Raphaela and I participated in a special zoo Chanukah activity, with sugar dough.  Together we constructed a totally edible candy mouse, and after very clear instruction, I told Raphaela that when she felt ready, she was allowed to eat her creation.  It almost sounded like cannibalism, the way she gleefully planned  the eating of the various mouse body parts, though I could tell that Raphaela harbored a certain level of hesitation about consuming her newest friend.

The rest of the afternoon was spent enjoying the warm Chanukah weather, and I treated Raphaela to a mini-manicure.

It took several hours, and my daughter ate the tail and the ears of the candy mouse, and then she cradled him, placed the rest of him carefully on a plate, and tucked the mouse into bed.

Holiday Friends

Living in Jerusalem, I most happily report the absence of Black Friday type sales and Christmas related mega-marketing.  When we visited the States, however, Raphaela had a very different experience of the holiday season.

Not a materialistic girl by nature, whatever store we entered, she immediately fell into the "Buy me/Get me" routine that I can remember from my own childhood.  I myself do not enjoy shopping per se, and so we entered as few stores as possible. And when we were besieged by Christmas paraphernalia, Raphaela would ask me, "Where is Santa?"

Allow me to explain:  both Dora the Explorer and Diego have holiday themed shows, which then get translated into Hebrew for the Israeli audience.  Halloween becomes Purim, and Christmas becomes Chanukah.  But for Raphaela, Santa does not represent Christmas, she does not even know or understand the meaning of the term;  the jolly old man dressed in red represents a friend of her friends -Dora and Diego - and he is a man who helps the animals and comforts people with presents of food and hugs.

My parents, who could not fathom why my daughter growing up in a Jewish country knew of Santa, cringed every time she mentioned him, and I continually explained the innocent context until they backed down.

Then I reminded them of this story from my youngest brother, who for some odd reason received a Santa Clause doll from one of our cousins: around Raphaela's age, my brother became so attached to the toy, that my parents could not take it away from him.  Instead, because of the white beard, my brother and I renamed the doll "Rabbi Santa," and it became a fixture in the toy chest for many years.

There is room for all this holiday season, and I would rather complain that Chanukah jelly doughnuts appear rather early in the Israeli supermarkets, as opposed to the crazed run-over-your-neighbor-for-an-xbox events in the American stores.

The Ever Expanding Menagerie

Before we left Israel for this trip, I encountered serious resistance from Raphaela when I explained to her that she had to choose only one doll that would accompany us to America.  We settled on Baby Wolf, and all was good.

At home, she sleeps with an entire menagerie, and the rest of the dolls can be found in toy boxes throughout the house.

Less than a week in Washington at my brother's, and she went to sleep last night with no less than eight stuffed animals, most of which inexplicably are hers:  two small bunnies (her sleeping attachment objects), Baby Wolf, Mommy Wolf and Dora the Explorer (belongs to my brother), Rudolf whom we call in Hebrew Tzvi (snagged at CVS yesterday, against my wishes) and the newest member Elise, her gift from her great grandmother.

I am not quite sure how this happened, though I can happily report that as the effects of jet lag wind down, Raphaela woke up this morning at five am; as opposed to the 2:30 am of the previous days, I almost rejoiced when I looked at the clock.

At this rate, by the time she settles into a sleep schedule we will return home.