This week has become a series of good-byes, from some of her teachers and her after-school activities, and one of our goldfish. Although she understands that the Summer vacation does eventually come to an end and she will return to her routine, I have witnessed lots of emotion and hugs.
Raphaela has a hard time with endings and separation.
I am going to add in one more farewell, and that is the retirement of this blog.
When I started this blog, I thought I could add something to the discussion, about fertility treatments, about pregnancy, about single motherhood and its place in a modern Jewish community.
When I started this blog, I also didn't quite realize that the internet never forgets, and that the world wide web gets everywhere on the globe. As much as I may have contributed, I have probably also offended people without meaning to. And for that I apologize.
There is another factor that has most recently become more relevant: Raphaela has finished First Grade and is reading in two different languages. It will not be long before she can sit in front of the computer and find this blog and read it, all by herself. For the most part, she will see how much I love her, how beautiful she is, inside and out, and how blessed I feel for having taken the step of becoming a single mother by choice.
There will also be posts that she will read about how hard it is to parent, alone or otherwise, and how not all of my days have been my finest of days.
I think I need to respect her privacy as a fully formed person, and I think that now is a good time to close this chapter. I want to thank everyone who read until now, and I do hope that something I said helped you.
I will be keeping this blog open now and again, for future postings of photographs, but from now on, mine and Raphaela's life will stay behind closed doors, and closed computers.
======================================================================
I end with one last story: When we were driving home from school the other day, I reminded Raphaela that once Summer vacation begins, we will be going away for a small trip, in honor of my birthday.
How old will you be, Mommy?
25.
Wow, that's old!
Sorry, just joking, actually I will be 48 in July.
WOW, that's really old!
Showing posts with label Modern Technology. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Modern Technology. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 28, 2016
Sunday, January 3, 2016
A Brave New World in Children's Literature
Some of my best ideas and inspirations happened in college, except that I didn't know how to develop them into something real and long-term. For example, I started taking black and white photographs of the homeless people who lived on the sidewalk near Barnard/Columbia. In exchange for them telling me their life story and allowing me to take their picture, I would give them a hearty lunch (sandwich, fruits, drink etc) and my full attention during the interview.
"Someday," I thought, "this could become a fascinating best-selling book." Well, HONY [Humans of New York] has pretty much taken care of that niche in the market. I follow the site and own the books, and in between loving the content and the impact this project has had, I wonder how I could have done it first.
In college I also took a creative writing course, and one of my favorite (award-winning) stories was the story of The Three Little Pigs, as told from the perspective of the wolf. In my short story, the wolf was a rapper on MTV, with asthma; no apologies from me vis a vis the back story, it was the 80's.
This past Friday, at the library with Raphaela to get our weekend reading, we took out a children's book called The True Story of the Three Little Pigs, as told from the perspective of the wolf. In it, the wolf explains how he was framed because all he had was a powerful sneeze, and that he was visiting his neighbors the pigs to borrow a cup of sugar, to bake a cake for his grandmother; a reference presumably to the wolf who eats Little Red Riding Hood's grandmother in another gruesome fairy tale. The premise of the book, which is less for children than for their cynical and hip parents, is that the media had to hype the story and make him look like the Big Bad, because the birthday cake angle doesn't sell papers.
We have a similar children's book, a gift from a cousin, called Click Clack Moo, Cows that Type, which I feel is written as much for the parents as well as the kids. The book describes, using animals as a substitute for humans (how very George Orwell), how effective blackmail works if used intelligently. My mother hates this story and will not read it to my daughter, because she feels it teaches children how to be manipulative and be rewarded for it.
I can see her point, children these days are more savvy, and their books are written accordingly. On the other hand, it is a funny book and the illustrations work well, and while my daughter may be bright, I don't know how much she reads into the subtext beyond the slapstick.
On Sesame Street, Cookie Monster is enrolled in a 12-step program for his impulse control issues, Elmo may as well be taking Ritalin, and Telly is probably on anti-depressants. Snuffy was revealed to the rest of the street over fear that children may not tell their parents that they are being abused, because no one would believe them. Katy Perry appeared on the children's educational program half-naked, and I don't remember there being any outcry from parents. We're not in Kansas anymore...
Raphaela and I recently finished reading The Little Prince together, and as I was bawling and feeling my entire understanding of the Universe deepen, she did not venture beyond the basic story IE plane gets fixed, Little Prince goes home to his flower, man is sad.
As a person who was quite naïve until I left for college, I wonder if we are raising this 21rst Century of children better, or if we are denying them some aspect of that idyllic youth, by exposing them to reality too early.
"Someday," I thought, "this could become a fascinating best-selling book." Well, HONY [Humans of New York] has pretty much taken care of that niche in the market. I follow the site and own the books, and in between loving the content and the impact this project has had, I wonder how I could have done it first.
In college I also took a creative writing course, and one of my favorite (award-winning) stories was the story of The Three Little Pigs, as told from the perspective of the wolf. In my short story, the wolf was a rapper on MTV, with asthma; no apologies from me vis a vis the back story, it was the 80's.
This past Friday, at the library with Raphaela to get our weekend reading, we took out a children's book called The True Story of the Three Little Pigs, as told from the perspective of the wolf. In it, the wolf explains how he was framed because all he had was a powerful sneeze, and that he was visiting his neighbors the pigs to borrow a cup of sugar, to bake a cake for his grandmother; a reference presumably to the wolf who eats Little Red Riding Hood's grandmother in another gruesome fairy tale. The premise of the book, which is less for children than for their cynical and hip parents, is that the media had to hype the story and make him look like the Big Bad, because the birthday cake angle doesn't sell papers.
We have a similar children's book, a gift from a cousin, called Click Clack Moo, Cows that Type, which I feel is written as much for the parents as well as the kids. The book describes, using animals as a substitute for humans (how very George Orwell), how effective blackmail works if used intelligently. My mother hates this story and will not read it to my daughter, because she feels it teaches children how to be manipulative and be rewarded for it.
I can see her point, children these days are more savvy, and their books are written accordingly. On the other hand, it is a funny book and the illustrations work well, and while my daughter may be bright, I don't know how much she reads into the subtext beyond the slapstick.
On Sesame Street, Cookie Monster is enrolled in a 12-step program for his impulse control issues, Elmo may as well be taking Ritalin, and Telly is probably on anti-depressants. Snuffy was revealed to the rest of the street over fear that children may not tell their parents that they are being abused, because no one would believe them. Katy Perry appeared on the children's educational program half-naked, and I don't remember there being any outcry from parents. We're not in Kansas anymore...
Raphaela and I recently finished reading The Little Prince together, and as I was bawling and feeling my entire understanding of the Universe deepen, she did not venture beyond the basic story IE plane gets fixed, Little Prince goes home to his flower, man is sad.
As a person who was quite naïve until I left for college, I wonder if we are raising this 21rst Century of children better, or if we are denying them some aspect of that idyllic youth, by exposing them to reality too early.
Sunday, December 13, 2015
Brush with Fame
About a week ago, I got a call from a casting director for Warner Brothers, they were looking for:
A girl aged 6-9
Brown hair, brown eyes
English speaker, specifically with an Israeli accent
No particular acting experience required.
The casting director wanted to know if Raphaela would audition for them at their office in Tel Aviv, as she fit the bill, perfectly. I answered a tentative yes, but told them that if she was quite determined not to participate, I would cancel our meeting, so as not to waste their time.
Warner Brothers sent me a page of script for Raphaela to memorize, as well as certain requests, including that the child not wear make-up for the audition. ("Make-up?!" I thought, "At age six?") They specifically set the audition for the Chanukah holiday, during school vacation.
When I told Raphaela about the opportunity, she couldn't have cared less. When I told her it was about a brave girl, a heroine who is good at a bow and arrow and protects her family, she was worried because she does not know how to shoot a bow and arrow. When I did a read-through on the script and it mentioned a bear, Raphaela decided that she did not want to come face-to-face with a bear. Explaining modern movie-making and CGI technology did not help.
So I let it go. Over the week I read the script to her/with her and she remained completely ambivalent. Today, the day of our appointment, a cold and rainy day in Jerusalem, Raphaela made her resistance clear, she was not leaving the house for anything, and I canceled the audition.
I have learned (since she was 20 weeks old in the womb) that Raphaela does what she wants when she wants, and when the answer is "No," it is not worth the fight and the trauma. Walking, toilet training, ballet lessons, reading, selective vegetarianism, it all came when it came, when she decided that she could commit fully.
She does not want to be in the movies right now, and fame does not motivate her in the least. And I have no intention of becoming that reality star monster, Kris Kardashian. Even if my daughter is the next Gal Gadot or Natalie Portman.
I would have liked to go, just for the experience of it, but as the mother of this child- this warm, dramatic, stubborn, opinionated and social child -I have to know what is best for her. I trust the Universe that if this is indeed Raphaela's path, another opportunity will arise, when she is ready.
A girl aged 6-9
Brown hair, brown eyes
English speaker, specifically with an Israeli accent
No particular acting experience required.
The casting director wanted to know if Raphaela would audition for them at their office in Tel Aviv, as she fit the bill, perfectly. I answered a tentative yes, but told them that if she was quite determined not to participate, I would cancel our meeting, so as not to waste their time.
Warner Brothers sent me a page of script for Raphaela to memorize, as well as certain requests, including that the child not wear make-up for the audition. ("Make-up?!" I thought, "At age six?") They specifically set the audition for the Chanukah holiday, during school vacation.
When I told Raphaela about the opportunity, she couldn't have cared less. When I told her it was about a brave girl, a heroine who is good at a bow and arrow and protects her family, she was worried because she does not know how to shoot a bow and arrow. When I did a read-through on the script and it mentioned a bear, Raphaela decided that she did not want to come face-to-face with a bear. Explaining modern movie-making and CGI technology did not help.
So I let it go. Over the week I read the script to her/with her and she remained completely ambivalent. Today, the day of our appointment, a cold and rainy day in Jerusalem, Raphaela made her resistance clear, she was not leaving the house for anything, and I canceled the audition.
I have learned (since she was 20 weeks old in the womb) that Raphaela does what she wants when she wants, and when the answer is "No," it is not worth the fight and the trauma. Walking, toilet training, ballet lessons, reading, selective vegetarianism, it all came when it came, when she decided that she could commit fully.
She does not want to be in the movies right now, and fame does not motivate her in the least. And I have no intention of becoming that reality star monster, Kris Kardashian. Even if my daughter is the next Gal Gadot or Natalie Portman.
I would have liked to go, just for the experience of it, but as the mother of this child- this warm, dramatic, stubborn, opinionated and social child -I have to know what is best for her. I trust the Universe that if this is indeed Raphaela's path, another opportunity will arise, when she is ready.
Wednesday, December 2, 2015
The Beautiful Lights
Last night, the First Grade girls in Evelyna held their Chanukah party, and considering the 31 children plus parents in the room, it went more or less smoothly.
Their teacher talked about the creation of the world, and how God created a special light, but then didn't know where to put it. Upon consultation with the angels, God placed a piece of this special light into each person, deep inside so that only those who were actively searching for it would find it; "because many people don't bother to look and examine deep inside themselves," said the teacher. Then she thanked each of the girls in her class for manifesting that truly special light.
The Principal also spoke, and pointed out that while gravity on Earth will pull most things down (as he dropped his iPhone to the floor, ouch!), the flame of a fire defies these basic rules of physics and reaches upward, toward the heavens. Then he as well said that each of these girls are lights, always reaching upward and always lighting the way with their camaraderie.
And indeed, I saw it with my own eyes. At one point the teacher was leading an activity in which she sang a (very long) song about all the Chesed [good deeds in Hebrew] that we can do for each other, and every time she tapped a child on the head, they were meant to open a little flash light and wave it around. It was dark in the room and she was not utilizing any particular system of order, patting heads haphazardly, and ultimately she skipped over Raphaela.
Raphaela said nothing.
After putting on the lights of the classroom and starting to move on, one of the other girls in the class got up and pulled on the teachers shirt and said, "You forgot Raphaela!" Whereupon the teacher immediately shut off the lights, made special notice of my daughter and had all the children wave their flash lights together.
Afterwards I was talking to the teacher and she told me that Raphaela thanks her every day, for the lessons and the affection and the effort put into guiding these girls. The teacher told me how impressed she was that Raphaela can say "thank you" and can make others feel genuinely appreciated.
Thank you, Raphaela, for making me proud.
Their teacher talked about the creation of the world, and how God created a special light, but then didn't know where to put it. Upon consultation with the angels, God placed a piece of this special light into each person, deep inside so that only those who were actively searching for it would find it; "because many people don't bother to look and examine deep inside themselves," said the teacher. Then she thanked each of the girls in her class for manifesting that truly special light.
The Principal also spoke, and pointed out that while gravity on Earth will pull most things down (as he dropped his iPhone to the floor, ouch!), the flame of a fire defies these basic rules of physics and reaches upward, toward the heavens. Then he as well said that each of these girls are lights, always reaching upward and always lighting the way with their camaraderie.
And indeed, I saw it with my own eyes. At one point the teacher was leading an activity in which she sang a (very long) song about all the Chesed [good deeds in Hebrew] that we can do for each other, and every time she tapped a child on the head, they were meant to open a little flash light and wave it around. It was dark in the room and she was not utilizing any particular system of order, patting heads haphazardly, and ultimately she skipped over Raphaela.
Raphaela said nothing.
After putting on the lights of the classroom and starting to move on, one of the other girls in the class got up and pulled on the teachers shirt and said, "You forgot Raphaela!" Whereupon the teacher immediately shut off the lights, made special notice of my daughter and had all the children wave their flash lights together.
Afterwards I was talking to the teacher and she told me that Raphaela thanks her every day, for the lessons and the affection and the effort put into guiding these girls. The teacher told me how impressed she was that Raphaela can say "thank you" and can make others feel genuinely appreciated.
Thank you, Raphaela, for making me proud.
Monday, October 26, 2015
Why and How
Lately, Raphaela is in this beautiful place intellectually where her curiosity factor seems to have expanded exponentially. She wants to know how and why everything works, she wants to understand where everything fits into the larger picture. And she has started asking questions about my life in a detailed and interested way.
We spent an hour yesterday exploring every icon on the desktop, pressing every button to see what it did to the screen. It was as much an adventure for me as it was for her, as I am technologically challenged.
She asked me a series of questions about my medical degree and education. How much homework did I do? How many years did it take to become a doctor? Where are all my notebooks and school books, "are there more than one hundred"? After perusing my library, she chose a book about how to make natural herbal medicine from food in the house, and decided that we should mix up a batch of something.
Raphaela also wanted a play-by-play of every moment from my first labour pains and until I held her in my arms for the first time.
In the bath last night, in between splashing and playing, we did linguistic comparisons between English, Hebrew, French and Spanish; Raphaela counted to ten in all four languages and noted that many of the words sound the same, because they share the same root.
This morning while I was packing her lunch box, she followed the electrical cords of all the appliances in the kitchen to their source, to understand where they plugged in. Then she showed me how to use the microwave, a skill she picked up in school where they warm up their meals if need be. "You just set the time and press this button, Mommy, easy peasy. Why don't we use the microwave oven at home more often?"
When Raphaela was a baby, I could chart her progress through visible and substantial achievements, like walking or adding words to her vocabulary, or telling me that she wanted to walk into her nursery classroom by herself, because she was a "big girl now."
Her accomplishments these days are more subtle but no less exciting and impressive.
Right now, Raphaela has decided that when she grows up she wants to be an artist, a Zoo Keeper/Veterinarian, a dancer and a Mommy. Nothing wrong with a little ambition, and I will surely be proud of her as long as she finds a path that brings her joy and satisfaction, and changes the world just a little.
We spent an hour yesterday exploring every icon on the desktop, pressing every button to see what it did to the screen. It was as much an adventure for me as it was for her, as I am technologically challenged.
She asked me a series of questions about my medical degree and education. How much homework did I do? How many years did it take to become a doctor? Where are all my notebooks and school books, "are there more than one hundred"? After perusing my library, she chose a book about how to make natural herbal medicine from food in the house, and decided that we should mix up a batch of something.
Raphaela also wanted a play-by-play of every moment from my first labour pains and until I held her in my arms for the first time.
In the bath last night, in between splashing and playing, we did linguistic comparisons between English, Hebrew, French and Spanish; Raphaela counted to ten in all four languages and noted that many of the words sound the same, because they share the same root.
This morning while I was packing her lunch box, she followed the electrical cords of all the appliances in the kitchen to their source, to understand where they plugged in. Then she showed me how to use the microwave, a skill she picked up in school where they warm up their meals if need be. "You just set the time and press this button, Mommy, easy peasy. Why don't we use the microwave oven at home more often?"
When Raphaela was a baby, I could chart her progress through visible and substantial achievements, like walking or adding words to her vocabulary, or telling me that she wanted to walk into her nursery classroom by herself, because she was a "big girl now."
Her accomplishments these days are more subtle but no less exciting and impressive.
Right now, Raphaela has decided that when she grows up she wants to be an artist, a Zoo Keeper/Veterinarian, a dancer and a Mommy. Nothing wrong with a little ambition, and I will surely be proud of her as long as she finds a path that brings her joy and satisfaction, and changes the world just a little.
Saturday, September 12, 2015
This One's On Me
Raphaela has now officially had two weeks of First Grade, and overall, seems to be enjoying the experience. She has not quite grasped the idea that she does not want too much homework, and has been purposely not completing tasks during class time, so we can have that quality (stressful) time together at home. I am trying to communicate to her that homework is not good for our relationship.
The only task she found frustrating this week was computer class: they had time to draw a picture on screen and she told me that it "did not come out right" because she couldn't control the mouse.
Well of course, because I perhaps spend all of ten minutes on the computer every day, and when we are home together, we do play; with dolls or art projects or reading books, but the computer never gets turned on. Part of this has been an active choice, I believe in old-fashioned play, and part of it probably stems from the fact that I am a Luddite by nature.
Watching her frustration, however, I must get beyond my own issues with modern technology and admit that her generation was born with an iPhone in their hands; and that without proper comfort and training in computers, I am leaving my daughter at a disadvantage.
It hit me more a few days ago when she had a play date, and the first thing her new friend asked was whether we had any good computer games.
So now, every day, I set aside a half hour every day for computer play time. I have found two good free sites with games and coloring pages (nickjr and pbskids/Dr Suess) and I am forcing Raphaela to get comfortable with the mouse. Forcing in a fun kind of way, because it is good for her.
The only task she found frustrating this week was computer class: they had time to draw a picture on screen and she told me that it "did not come out right" because she couldn't control the mouse.
Well of course, because I perhaps spend all of ten minutes on the computer every day, and when we are home together, we do play; with dolls or art projects or reading books, but the computer never gets turned on. Part of this has been an active choice, I believe in old-fashioned play, and part of it probably stems from the fact that I am a Luddite by nature.
Watching her frustration, however, I must get beyond my own issues with modern technology and admit that her generation was born with an iPhone in their hands; and that without proper comfort and training in computers, I am leaving my daughter at a disadvantage.
It hit me more a few days ago when she had a play date, and the first thing her new friend asked was whether we had any good computer games.
So now, every day, I set aside a half hour every day for computer play time. I have found two good free sites with games and coloring pages (nickjr and pbskids/Dr Suess) and I am forcing Raphaela to get comfortable with the mouse. Forcing in a fun kind of way, because it is good for her.
Tuesday, September 1, 2015
And So It Came To Be
Monday Night
8:00 pm, Raphaela goes to sleep, leaving her back pack right next to her pillow
11:45 pm, After watching a movie, reading a few chapters of my book and drinking a small glass of wine, I fall asleep.
Tuesday, First Day of School
2:00 am, Raphaela comes into my bedroom, wide awake, and asks, "What are you doing?" I answer, "I am sleeping."
5:30 am, Raphaela wakes me up, gets dressed by herself, and puts on her back pack. The back pack does not come off.
6:00 am, Rapheala informs me that her sport shoes are too small for her, and indeed she is correct; her toes can be felt at the tip of the sneakers. Because of my background in the Jewish Girl Scouts, I have a pair for her that is the next size up, and some lucky person will basically be getting a new pair of girl's shoes.
7:30 am, We feed the street cats and I throw out the garbage, and we head out for the first day of First Grade. I show Raphaela various markers along the route (a big rock, twin trees, a small forest, a tunnel) so that when she is older, she will have no problem walking to school with her friends.
7:45 am, We are greeted by the principal at the front gate, and see lots of different families we know from the neighborhood and from previous incarnations of Gan. Raphaela goes to her classroom and sits in the front row.
Then another little girl comes and sits next to her, and her parents explain that she is an English speaker, and that her name is Elsa. This is starting out well, thank you G-d for small and large miracles. Of note, there are three angel-like names in the class - Raphaela, Michaela and Gabriella - so there will lots of divine energy in the room.
8:00 am, Raphaela's teacher arrives and my daughter kicks me out the door. I join a group of parents staying right outside the classroom and all of lamenting, "I am so emotional. I don't want to go."
8:20 am, I drop off all the charitable donation items at Raphaela's Gan from last year. Several of the parents look at me funny and say, "Didn't your daughter move on?" Yes she did.
Walking home to get ready for work, I realize that I am exceptionally sweaty and it is not all that hot in Jerusalem. It must be the nervous excitement.
12:45, Early pick up from school as it is the first day. The teacher is running a little late, which causes the next cascade of homework issues.
13:15 pm, We get home and Raphaela takes out her folder, with one page for the parents to fill out, and a letter for the parents from the principal. When I ask Raphaela if she has any other homework, she says that she has forgotten, and then gets impatient with me for asking.
We are going to have to come up with a system for this.
So I call the mother of one of the girls in her class, who was also in her Gan class last year. She laughs and explains that this teacher purposely does not tell the parents about assignments, because she wants the girls to take responsibility for themselves. The teacher is fully cognizant that it means that some homework will be forgotten at the beginning of the year. But apparently tonight there is no problem, nothing more to do.
As soon as I hung up, the phone rang and it was another mother who had the exact same discussion /argument with her daughter, and was unclear as to whether there was more homework. We laughed at our situation as newbies, and decided that we need to set up a whatsapp group to support each other and ask stupid questions.
With the last little bit of vacation remaining, Raphaela and I ate a quick lunch and went to the pool.
Tomorrow it's really real.
8:00 pm, Raphaela goes to sleep, leaving her back pack right next to her pillow
11:45 pm, After watching a movie, reading a few chapters of my book and drinking a small glass of wine, I fall asleep.
Tuesday, First Day of School
2:00 am, Raphaela comes into my bedroom, wide awake, and asks, "What are you doing?" I answer, "I am sleeping."
5:30 am, Raphaela wakes me up, gets dressed by herself, and puts on her back pack. The back pack does not come off.
6:00 am, Rapheala informs me that her sport shoes are too small for her, and indeed she is correct; her toes can be felt at the tip of the sneakers. Because of my background in the Jewish Girl Scouts, I have a pair for her that is the next size up, and some lucky person will basically be getting a new pair of girl's shoes.
7:30 am, We feed the street cats and I throw out the garbage, and we head out for the first day of First Grade. I show Raphaela various markers along the route (a big rock, twin trees, a small forest, a tunnel) so that when she is older, she will have no problem walking to school with her friends.
7:45 am, We are greeted by the principal at the front gate, and see lots of different families we know from the neighborhood and from previous incarnations of Gan. Raphaela goes to her classroom and sits in the front row.
Then another little girl comes and sits next to her, and her parents explain that she is an English speaker, and that her name is Elsa. This is starting out well, thank you G-d for small and large miracles. Of note, there are three angel-like names in the class - Raphaela, Michaela and Gabriella - so there will lots of divine energy in the room.
8:00 am, Raphaela's teacher arrives and my daughter kicks me out the door. I join a group of parents staying right outside the classroom and all of lamenting, "I am so emotional. I don't want to go."
8:20 am, I drop off all the charitable donation items at Raphaela's Gan from last year. Several of the parents look at me funny and say, "Didn't your daughter move on?" Yes she did.
Walking home to get ready for work, I realize that I am exceptionally sweaty and it is not all that hot in Jerusalem. It must be the nervous excitement.
12:45, Early pick up from school as it is the first day. The teacher is running a little late, which causes the next cascade of homework issues.
13:15 pm, We get home and Raphaela takes out her folder, with one page for the parents to fill out, and a letter for the parents from the principal. When I ask Raphaela if she has any other homework, she says that she has forgotten, and then gets impatient with me for asking.
We are going to have to come up with a system for this.
So I call the mother of one of the girls in her class, who was also in her Gan class last year. She laughs and explains that this teacher purposely does not tell the parents about assignments, because she wants the girls to take responsibility for themselves. The teacher is fully cognizant that it means that some homework will be forgotten at the beginning of the year. But apparently tonight there is no problem, nothing more to do.
As soon as I hung up, the phone rang and it was another mother who had the exact same discussion /argument with her daughter, and was unclear as to whether there was more homework. We laughed at our situation as newbies, and decided that we need to set up a whatsapp group to support each other and ask stupid questions.
With the last little bit of vacation remaining, Raphaela and I ate a quick lunch and went to the pool.
Tomorrow it's really real.
Saturday, August 8, 2015
We are Family
Two weeks ago, a friend of mine had a baby boy. Her son is in the same Gan class, and so Raphaela attended her first Brit Milah [circumcism]. She paid little attention to the actual event, she loved the fact that they had mini pizzas for the kids.
More than anything else, Raphaela kept expressing awe at the fact that her friend had such a large and festive family, and that they all lived in the same country and could play with each other whenever they wanted.
Earlier this week, after bath time, Raphaela decided that she missed my parents, and that she needed to Skype them right away, otherwise she wouldn't be able to fall asleep.
This past Shabbat, cousins of ours from New York were visiting Israel and staying near by, and we got a chance to hang out with them and catch up on all the family stories from the United States. Raphaela played with the children her age, and sucked in all the attention and hugs from doting adults. As we walked home, Raphaela burst into tears, saying that it "wasn't fair" that our family lives so far away, that people she loves come and then leave. That she wants to live in Israel, but she also wants all her family to move in with us, so she can have a "major sleep over."
I told Raphaela that she was allowed to be sad, she was allowed to miss her family, and that her desire to have family close by is a reasonable and beautiful request. Now I have to find some way to fill that gap for her, so she continues to feel loved without the fear of abandonment.
More than anything else, Raphaela kept expressing awe at the fact that her friend had such a large and festive family, and that they all lived in the same country and could play with each other whenever they wanted.
Earlier this week, after bath time, Raphaela decided that she missed my parents, and that she needed to Skype them right away, otherwise she wouldn't be able to fall asleep.
This past Shabbat, cousins of ours from New York were visiting Israel and staying near by, and we got a chance to hang out with them and catch up on all the family stories from the United States. Raphaela played with the children her age, and sucked in all the attention and hugs from doting adults. As we walked home, Raphaela burst into tears, saying that it "wasn't fair" that our family lives so far away, that people she loves come and then leave. That she wants to live in Israel, but she also wants all her family to move in with us, so she can have a "major sleep over."
I told Raphaela that she was allowed to be sad, she was allowed to miss her family, and that her desire to have family close by is a reasonable and beautiful request. Now I have to find some way to fill that gap for her, so she continues to feel loved without the fear of abandonment.
Monday, June 1, 2015
Here's how clueless I am about trending topics in the infotainment industry: the news on the Israeli radio announced this morning that a "Caitlyn Jenner" had broken the record for the most Twitter followers in the first 24 hours, beating the previous record set by President Barack Obama. My first thought was this, "Oh no, another Kardashian sister crawling out of the wood-work for their 15 minutes of fame. Haven't we had enough of that family?"
Thursday, January 8, 2015
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.)
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.)
Sunday, January 4, 2015
Hell, No! Please No Snow!
It may start snowing in the whole of Israel, including Jerusalem, starting Tuesday night, and continuing (depending upon which app you have on your iPhone) through Friday. Last year we did not have water or electricity for three days, in an already typically frigid non-insulated Jerusalem apartment.
This week Raphaela is supposed to have a ballet recital, I am meant to meet with my accountant across town, and on Friday Raphaela's potential elementary school scheduled a parents' day/Open House. Among other things in our regularly programmed week, including me making a living and Raphaela and my first born feline, Harry "The Highlander," not being stuck at home for several days.
Last night I told Raphaela that it might snow this week, and she started crying. First, she told me she was crying because of the trauma we suffered last year. "I want to be able to flush a toilet," she wailed. Then she told me that she was crying JUST thinking about the street cats that we feed; what will they eat if it snows, where will they be warm if it snows, etc.
It did not comfort her that weather men and woman can often be wrong or at the very least off base. I assured her that we would have food, that there was plenty I could cook on a gas-powered stove top, even without electricity, God Forbid. (That is, assuming of course, we have running water.)
We can in fact live without phones, television, Wi-Fi and the computer for a few days, if we have to. (Right?)
Raphaela did smile for a moment when she remembered that one of our street cats is named "Frosty...like the frost!" she said. "She will be OK in the snow."
This week Raphaela is supposed to have a ballet recital, I am meant to meet with my accountant across town, and on Friday Raphaela's potential elementary school scheduled a parents' day/Open House. Among other things in our regularly programmed week, including me making a living and Raphaela and my first born feline, Harry "The Highlander," not being stuck at home for several days.
Last night I told Raphaela that it might snow this week, and she started crying. First, she told me she was crying because of the trauma we suffered last year. "I want to be able to flush a toilet," she wailed. Then she told me that she was crying JUST thinking about the street cats that we feed; what will they eat if it snows, where will they be warm if it snows, etc.
It did not comfort her that weather men and woman can often be wrong or at the very least off base. I assured her that we would have food, that there was plenty I could cook on a gas-powered stove top, even without electricity, God Forbid. (That is, assuming of course, we have running water.)
We can in fact live without phones, television, Wi-Fi and the computer for a few days, if we have to. (Right?)
Raphaela did smile for a moment when she remembered that one of our street cats is named "Frosty...like the frost!" she said. "She will be OK in the snow."
Sunday, December 7, 2014
Real and Imaginary Friends
My parents had come to visit us for two and a half weeks, and it took two days for Raphaela to truly absorb the fact that they were no longer our neighbors down the street, once again the grandparents who live on Skype or Facetime. Raphaela and I were in the supermarket last Thursday and in the middle of the fruit aisle, she burst out crying, saying how much she missed my mother and father and asking when they would be returning from America to Jerusalem.
The only way to console her was to whip out my cell phone and on the spot arrange a video call with my father, who spoke to her and calmed her down. (Praise be the iPhone!)
On the way home Raphaela declared that from now on she would only play with family members, real or imagined. Which leaves my brother and his family, whom we see infrequently, and her two imaginary siblings, a younger brother and an older sister. I got the sense that since my parents had returned to the their home in Boston, Raphaela had chosen to play by herself with her imaginary brother and sister, rather than with her real classmates during the day.
Concerned, I told her that in order to be happy and have good days, we need both our real and imagined playmates, and that we should treasure the real people around us, even if they are not related by blood. To encourage her, I told her that when I was little I had an imaginary friend who was a super hero, and while I have not abandoned her (even as a grown up), I truly enjoy the time I spend with my real-live grown up friends. Then I asked her to name some of the children in her Gan that she likes, and Raphaela begrudgingly filled our her list. I reminded her as well that there are people who love her everywhere in the world, even if we cannot eat Shabbat dinner with them every week.
I can only hope that the sadness and the social isolation she is imposing on herself will pass.
The only way to console her was to whip out my cell phone and on the spot arrange a video call with my father, who spoke to her and calmed her down. (Praise be the iPhone!)
On the way home Raphaela declared that from now on she would only play with family members, real or imagined. Which leaves my brother and his family, whom we see infrequently, and her two imaginary siblings, a younger brother and an older sister. I got the sense that since my parents had returned to the their home in Boston, Raphaela had chosen to play by herself with her imaginary brother and sister, rather than with her real classmates during the day.
Concerned, I told her that in order to be happy and have good days, we need both our real and imagined playmates, and that we should treasure the real people around us, even if they are not related by blood. To encourage her, I told her that when I was little I had an imaginary friend who was a super hero, and while I have not abandoned her (even as a grown up), I truly enjoy the time I spend with my real-live grown up friends. Then I asked her to name some of the children in her Gan that she likes, and Raphaela begrudgingly filled our her list. I reminded her as well that there are people who love her everywhere in the world, even if we cannot eat Shabbat dinner with them every week.
I can only hope that the sadness and the social isolation she is imposing on herself will pass.
Sunday, November 16, 2014
Shabbat Shalom, Hey!
The more Raphaela becomes aware of her surroundings, the more sure I must be of the rules and guidelines and consistent messages that are in place in our home. On Friday night Raphaela informed me that her teacher told her that it is forbidden to watch television on Shabbat. It's nice to detach from the world of bad news and technology for 24 hours.
On Shabbat day, Raphaela and I packed a picnic lunch and some sports equipment, to meet up with friends in the park near our house, a large playground and grassy area usually full of religious families and Arabs on this, our only day of supposed rest during the week for the citizens of Israel.
As we started walking down the hill, a lone car drove by.
Raphaela: Mommy, my teacher told us that you are not allowed to drive on Shabbat.
Mommy: That's true honey, and though our car rests on Shabbat, some people drive. Everyone makes their own choices.
Raphaela: Some people use elevators on Shabbat and some don't.
Mommy: That's right, and like I said, it is up to each one of us to decide what we do, and to accept the consequences of that choice.
Raphaela: Aha! Like the fact that you are wearing running shoes to the park and I am wearing Shabbat shoes.
Mommy: That's right (trying to suppress my smile), and we are both dressed just fine.
Raphaela: We are both OK.
When we arrived at the park, we were pleasantly surprised to find that a political group wishing to encourage a Shabbat-for-All environment had set up a concert area, along with various art projects, clowns, and mats on the grass. In fact, to show that Jerusalem can become as open and tolerant a city as any other, Israelis came from all over the city to our little park, and we grown-ups sat for several hours while the children played together.
Ironically, because the park was so over-run by people attending the festival, the regular crowd of religious and Ultra-Orthodox Jews, and Arabs doing BBQ fled the scene. Score Zero for openness and the inter-mingling on a lovely sunny Shabbat day.
On Shabbat day, Raphaela and I packed a picnic lunch and some sports equipment, to meet up with friends in the park near our house, a large playground and grassy area usually full of religious families and Arabs on this, our only day of supposed rest during the week for the citizens of Israel.
As we started walking down the hill, a lone car drove by.
Raphaela: Mommy, my teacher told us that you are not allowed to drive on Shabbat.
Mommy: That's true honey, and though our car rests on Shabbat, some people drive. Everyone makes their own choices.
Raphaela: Some people use elevators on Shabbat and some don't.
Mommy: That's right, and like I said, it is up to each one of us to decide what we do, and to accept the consequences of that choice.
Raphaela: Aha! Like the fact that you are wearing running shoes to the park and I am wearing Shabbat shoes.
Mommy: That's right (trying to suppress my smile), and we are both dressed just fine.
Raphaela: We are both OK.
When we arrived at the park, we were pleasantly surprised to find that a political group wishing to encourage a Shabbat-for-All environment had set up a concert area, along with various art projects, clowns, and mats on the grass. In fact, to show that Jerusalem can become as open and tolerant a city as any other, Israelis came from all over the city to our little park, and we grown-ups sat for several hours while the children played together.
Ironically, because the park was so over-run by people attending the festival, the regular crowd of religious and Ultra-Orthodox Jews, and Arabs doing BBQ fled the scene. Score Zero for openness and the inter-mingling on a lovely sunny Shabbat day.
Tuesday, October 21, 2014
Landing the Helicopter
There has been much talk and debate regarding Helicopter or "Tiger" parents, and I for one have always been grateful that Israeli society seems to foster more independence in children than in the United States.
In the past 24 hours I have come to understand that I still have room for improvement.
Yesterday Raphaela tried out an after-school activity at the Jerusalem Museum of Natural History, where she had previously experienced one of the her most memorable summer camps. The 90 minute animal workshop was led by the same woman who managed the summer camp, a kindergarten teacher with miles of experience and a teaching philosophy that I have always admired.
The teacher suggested that if the parents were to remain in the room, we could participate gladly but not minimize the effect for the children. Personally I would have been happy to meet with a friend for a cup of coffee and return for pick-up, but Raphaela wanted me to stay and meet her favorite bunny. Throughout the play time, I found myself trying to "help" the instructor and Raphaela by re-explaining or modifying the teacher's instructions. At a certain point, Maya Papaya Pickle [that's her name at work...] pulled me aside and explained that in her many years of dealing with children and their parents, she knows that all I have done comes from a positive place, with the intention of making my daughter's life "easier." Maya Papaya then continued, encouraging me to consider how much more it would help Raphaela if I stepped aside and allowed her to work things out for herself, gain the confidence of knowing that she figured it out and conquered her own territory.
Yup. And so I sat in the corner drinking tea, joining in only when Maya Papaya and Raphaela gave me their permission.
This morning I took Raphaela to speech therapy, where we have finished proper Hebrew pronunciation and have moved onto building the bridge of vocabulary between her fluent English and her fluent Hebrew, both of which get just a bit lost when Raphaela is trying to form complex sentences. I tried to observe quietly, and again, found myself several times trying to give Raphaela hints as to how to find a solution or a word faster, or at least quicker than her own mind was capable of at the time. Yvonne, her most excellent speech therapist and kind person, gently advised me to generate the patience and give Raphaela the time she truly needed, because if she solved a linguistic issue herself, she would own it and be that much more proud of herself.
Yup. And so I sat in the corner playing on my iPhone and only interacted in the game and evaluation when invited to do so.
After dropping Raphaela off at school, I went to the Chiropractic clinic and began my work for the day, and that's when whatsapp starting pinging. First a message from Raphaela's kindergarten teacher, announcing that on Friday the CHILDREN would be celebrating the start of a series of teachings about the Torah. Deborah asked that the parents send their kids to school that day in fine clothing and with celebratory Torah items, like a flag. Deborah, the head teacher also requested that four of the parents IE fathers volunteer to read the opening chapter of Genesis, in various ethnic tunes and styles, as part of the celebration.
PING! Mother 1: Well, I am coming to the celebration and I will be making a cake for the party.
PING! Mother 2: Me too, I will also be bring a cake.
PING! Mother 3: I will be bringing a cake that is gluten free, for the children who may have allergic sensitivities.
(Here I am, thinking that the teacher did not want to turn this into a major parent-child event, that I really really want my Fridays free so I can relax from the whole week, and what the hell do parents gain by kissing up to the staff at the kindergarten?! Didn't the teacher promise that parents would have only three parties the whole year? I am willing to embrace the lasseiz faire approach...)
PING! Deborah: I think we have enough cakes. Can someone bring some drinks?
PING! PING! PING! PING! (Twenty times over) Parents 4-20: I will bring drinks.
PING! Father 1: I will be able to read the Torah in the Ashkenazi style.
PING! Father 2: I will be able to read the Torah in Sephardi style.
PING! Father 3: I will be able to read the Torah in Sephardi Israeli style.
PING! Father 4: I feel so bad, I am working on Friday and I can't help you by reading the Torah in any style. But I just wanted to say how bad I feel about not being able to come.
PING! Deborah: Wow, you parents are amazing, really. Can any of the fathers read the Torah in Teimani style? And do any of the other mothers or fathers want to open the party with a blessing for all the children of the class?
PING! Mother21: Wait, don't we need throw away plates and cups for the party as well?
PING! Deborah: Sure, why not.
PING! Mother 22: Hey, I wanted to bring cutlery and plates and cups and napkins!
PING! Deborah: Please, by all means. Now we are missing other snack foods like potato chips and such, who will volunteer for that?
PING! Mother 23: I am going to bring the biggest bag of potato chips you have ever seen.
PING! Mother 24: Me too, my bag of chips will be just as big.
(Rearranging my work schedule for Friday and wondering if I am going to have to wear full synagogue regalia for this supposed minor religious gathering.)
PING! Deborah: Parents, by the way, you should remember that is just the first session of a full year of parent-child activities every Friday. I think it is so important that you mothers and fathers fully encourage your children as they get closer and closer to First Grade and to their awareness as proud Jewish children.
(Every Friday? And you know that there will be repercussions on some level for parents who can't attend on a regular basis, because of work or Shabbat preparations, or G-d Forbid some grown up time at the end of the week. I mean, I love my daughter and would do anything for her, but have a little mercy on a single mother...)
PING! Mother 25: Hey, are you sure we don't need another cake?
Distracted and exasperated, I shut off my phone.
In the past 24 hours I have come to understand that I still have room for improvement.
Yesterday Raphaela tried out an after-school activity at the Jerusalem Museum of Natural History, where she had previously experienced one of the her most memorable summer camps. The 90 minute animal workshop was led by the same woman who managed the summer camp, a kindergarten teacher with miles of experience and a teaching philosophy that I have always admired.
The teacher suggested that if the parents were to remain in the room, we could participate gladly but not minimize the effect for the children. Personally I would have been happy to meet with a friend for a cup of coffee and return for pick-up, but Raphaela wanted me to stay and meet her favorite bunny. Throughout the play time, I found myself trying to "help" the instructor and Raphaela by re-explaining or modifying the teacher's instructions. At a certain point, Maya Papaya Pickle [that's her name at work...] pulled me aside and explained that in her many years of dealing with children and their parents, she knows that all I have done comes from a positive place, with the intention of making my daughter's life "easier." Maya Papaya then continued, encouraging me to consider how much more it would help Raphaela if I stepped aside and allowed her to work things out for herself, gain the confidence of knowing that she figured it out and conquered her own territory.
Yup. And so I sat in the corner drinking tea, joining in only when Maya Papaya and Raphaela gave me their permission.
This morning I took Raphaela to speech therapy, where we have finished proper Hebrew pronunciation and have moved onto building the bridge of vocabulary between her fluent English and her fluent Hebrew, both of which get just a bit lost when Raphaela is trying to form complex sentences. I tried to observe quietly, and again, found myself several times trying to give Raphaela hints as to how to find a solution or a word faster, or at least quicker than her own mind was capable of at the time. Yvonne, her most excellent speech therapist and kind person, gently advised me to generate the patience and give Raphaela the time she truly needed, because if she solved a linguistic issue herself, she would own it and be that much more proud of herself.
Yup. And so I sat in the corner playing on my iPhone and only interacted in the game and evaluation when invited to do so.
After dropping Raphaela off at school, I went to the Chiropractic clinic and began my work for the day, and that's when whatsapp starting pinging. First a message from Raphaela's kindergarten teacher, announcing that on Friday the CHILDREN would be celebrating the start of a series of teachings about the Torah. Deborah asked that the parents send their kids to school that day in fine clothing and with celebratory Torah items, like a flag. Deborah, the head teacher also requested that four of the parents IE fathers volunteer to read the opening chapter of Genesis, in various ethnic tunes and styles, as part of the celebration.
PING! Mother 1: Well, I am coming to the celebration and I will be making a cake for the party.
PING! Mother 2: Me too, I will also be bring a cake.
PING! Mother 3: I will be bringing a cake that is gluten free, for the children who may have allergic sensitivities.
(Here I am, thinking that the teacher did not want to turn this into a major parent-child event, that I really really want my Fridays free so I can relax from the whole week, and what the hell do parents gain by kissing up to the staff at the kindergarten?! Didn't the teacher promise that parents would have only three parties the whole year? I am willing to embrace the lasseiz faire approach...)
PING! Deborah: I think we have enough cakes. Can someone bring some drinks?
PING! PING! PING! PING! (Twenty times over) Parents 4-20: I will bring drinks.
PING! Father 1: I will be able to read the Torah in the Ashkenazi style.
PING! Father 2: I will be able to read the Torah in Sephardi style.
PING! Father 3: I will be able to read the Torah in Sephardi Israeli style.
PING! Father 4: I feel so bad, I am working on Friday and I can't help you by reading the Torah in any style. But I just wanted to say how bad I feel about not being able to come.
PING! Deborah: Wow, you parents are amazing, really. Can any of the fathers read the Torah in Teimani style? And do any of the other mothers or fathers want to open the party with a blessing for all the children of the class?
PING! Mother21: Wait, don't we need throw away plates and cups for the party as well?
PING! Deborah: Sure, why not.
PING! Mother 22: Hey, I wanted to bring cutlery and plates and cups and napkins!
PING! Deborah: Please, by all means. Now we are missing other snack foods like potato chips and such, who will volunteer for that?
PING! Mother 23: I am going to bring the biggest bag of potato chips you have ever seen.
PING! Mother 24: Me too, my bag of chips will be just as big.
(Rearranging my work schedule for Friday and wondering if I am going to have to wear full synagogue regalia for this supposed minor religious gathering.)
PING! Deborah: Parents, by the way, you should remember that is just the first session of a full year of parent-child activities every Friday. I think it is so important that you mothers and fathers fully encourage your children as they get closer and closer to First Grade and to their awareness as proud Jewish children.
(Every Friday? And you know that there will be repercussions on some level for parents who can't attend on a regular basis, because of work or Shabbat preparations, or G-d Forbid some grown up time at the end of the week. I mean, I love my daughter and would do anything for her, but have a little mercy on a single mother...)
PING! Mother 25: Hey, are you sure we don't need another cake?
Distracted and exasperated, I shut off my phone.
Saturday, September 13, 2014
Running with Scissors
On Friday, Raphaela asked for the child-safe scissors, so she could cut up some paper project in the living room. She came back to me about a half hour later and said, "Mommy, I decided that my hair needed a trim, so I gave myself a haircut."
In a panic, I checked her long beautiful hair for signs of random destruction, and other than looking "floofy," it seemed undamaged. I stared at Raphaela, straight in the eyes, and said, "Honey, I need you to know that I am not going to be angry at you, and I need for you to tell me the truth. How much hair did you cut off? Can you go to the living room and bring me those pieces of hair so I can see?"
Indeed she did return with the smallest clump of hair, and I told Raphaela how proud I was, that she had told me the truth and showed me the damage even though she thought I might be angry. I also explained that if she really wants a different hair style, we need to go to a professional hair stylist, we cannot take care of this at home.
On Saturday night, after Shabbat, I tried to use my iPad, and it had quite simply died some time over the weekend. Fearing that Raphaela had done something, I again called her over and reassured her that I would not be angry, and that I needed to hear the truth; had she played with and/or dropped the machine when I was not in the room with her?
Raphaela swore up and down that she had not touched it, and then conjured up a potential explanation, a la classic Greek mythology: "Maybe the iPad thought it had wings and tried to fly, and then failed and fell on the floor." (Very Icarus of her...)
I wanted to believe Raphaela, and since she has in the past been unafraid to admit to the truth I gave her the benefit of the doubt.
Raphaela then added, "Mommy, why is it that we need all these machines around us anyway?"
In a panic, I checked her long beautiful hair for signs of random destruction, and other than looking "floofy," it seemed undamaged. I stared at Raphaela, straight in the eyes, and said, "Honey, I need you to know that I am not going to be angry at you, and I need for you to tell me the truth. How much hair did you cut off? Can you go to the living room and bring me those pieces of hair so I can see?"
Indeed she did return with the smallest clump of hair, and I told Raphaela how proud I was, that she had told me the truth and showed me the damage even though she thought I might be angry. I also explained that if she really wants a different hair style, we need to go to a professional hair stylist, we cannot take care of this at home.
On Saturday night, after Shabbat, I tried to use my iPad, and it had quite simply died some time over the weekend. Fearing that Raphaela had done something, I again called her over and reassured her that I would not be angry, and that I needed to hear the truth; had she played with and/or dropped the machine when I was not in the room with her?
Raphaela swore up and down that she had not touched it, and then conjured up a potential explanation, a la classic Greek mythology: "Maybe the iPad thought it had wings and tried to fly, and then failed and fell on the floor." (Very Icarus of her...)
I wanted to believe Raphaela, and since she has in the past been unafraid to admit to the truth I gave her the benefit of the doubt.
Raphaela then added, "Mommy, why is it that we need all these machines around us anyway?"
Saturday, August 23, 2014
The ALS Ice Bucket Challenge
In honor of the summer, I had bought a set of water guns for Raphaela and myself. Yesterday as we doused each other, Raphaela asked me, "Does this mean that we did the ALS ice bucket challenge?"
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Being serious for a moment, ALS (Lou Gherigs) is a terrible disease, from which my uncle Jeshua Leeder Z"L died several years ago. At the start of all this viral video insanity, my brother was one of the first to do the ice bucket challenge and donate $100 to the cause, for the right reasons, and I applaud him.
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Being serious for a moment, ALS (Lou Gherigs) is a terrible disease, from which my uncle Jeshua Leeder Z"L died several years ago. At the start of all this viral video insanity, my brother was one of the first to do the ice bucket challenge and donate $100 to the cause, for the right reasons, and I applaud him.
Thursday, July 24, 2014
Happy Birthday to Me
How does a single mother in Jerusalem celebrate her birthday with jet lag and the background stress of a war?
I spent most of the day not working (the present), so I could wear a dress today instead of clinic clothing, and invested a little extra time with make up and jewelry. After dropping Raphaela off at camp, onward to errands all over town: post office, bank, supermarket, dry cleaners and electrolysis (sort of a present).
Grabbed a quick bite to eat, and then I picked up my daughter from camp; together we made my birthday cake and had it for dessert.
Wild times, I tell you.
Tomorrow I get to clean the house for Shabbat and take Harry to the vet for his yearly shots.
Mostly, I am grateful to live in a country where despite a war, I can have a "normal" day and I can see signs of community all around me: Raphaela's class made pictures for injured soldiers and delivered them to the hospital, and they also assembled a care package to be sent to soldiers on the front lines. 30,000 Israelis, most of whom did not know the American-born soldier who died this week, attended his funeral on Mount Herzl, and continue to stream over to the hotel where his family is in mourning, sitting Shiva. All over the social media, posted information regarding the support of soldiers and their families, and the people living under constant bombardment, especially in the South of the country.
Maybe when this phase of the war is over, we will remember that we must remain united, and not just during those times when our enemies actively attempt to wipe the State of Israel off the map.
I spent most of the day not working (the present), so I could wear a dress today instead of clinic clothing, and invested a little extra time with make up and jewelry. After dropping Raphaela off at camp, onward to errands all over town: post office, bank, supermarket, dry cleaners and electrolysis (sort of a present).
Grabbed a quick bite to eat, and then I picked up my daughter from camp; together we made my birthday cake and had it for dessert.
Wild times, I tell you.
Tomorrow I get to clean the house for Shabbat and take Harry to the vet for his yearly shots.
Mostly, I am grateful to live in a country where despite a war, I can have a "normal" day and I can see signs of community all around me: Raphaela's class made pictures for injured soldiers and delivered them to the hospital, and they also assembled a care package to be sent to soldiers on the front lines. 30,000 Israelis, most of whom did not know the American-born soldier who died this week, attended his funeral on Mount Herzl, and continue to stream over to the hotel where his family is in mourning, sitting Shiva. All over the social media, posted information regarding the support of soldiers and their families, and the people living under constant bombardment, especially in the South of the country.
Maybe when this phase of the war is over, we will remember that we must remain united, and not just during those times when our enemies actively attempt to wipe the State of Israel off the map.
Wednesday, May 14, 2014
Show and Tell
Yesterday when I picked up Raphaela from Gan, she was so excited, anticipating an afternoon play date. Her little friend came over and afterwards, in the bath, Raphaela casually mentioned that she may have forgotten an important note for me, that she may have left the "I have a Secret" box in school, and that she is pretty sure it has to do with the Hebrew letter "M."
And so I learned a new childhood concept in Hebrew, what I called Show and Tell in the United States is called "I have a Secret" in Israel.
Thank goodness for modern technology, because I then texted her teacher and her English instructor, learning that we are to bring at least two items that start with the Hebrew letter "N" and keep it hidden in the special box, which happened to left at her English lessons in another part of Jerusalem.
No worries, Raphaela and I scouted around the house, coming up with four different objects:
a piece of paper ("Niyar" in Hebrew)
a pair of shoes ("Naalayim" in Hebrew)
a large candle ("Ner" in Hebrew)
and a princess doll ("Nesicha" in Hebrew)
I wanted to include a snake ("Nachash") as well, but I could not find the toy in the house. Another possibility, "Nescafe" [that's right, instant coffee] might have amused the teachers but confounded Raphaela's classmates
This morning we first stopped by the house of her English teacher to pick up the brightly decorated Show and Tell tool box, put our secret items inside and then continued on to her Gan. When last I left Raphaela, she was guarding that box as if there were gold bars inside.
On the way home, I began thinking about the reality of an adult who moves to Israel, without the benefit of the experience of concepts and cultural ideas that we take for granted. For example, when I go to the supermarket, I don't know the names of all the vegetables in Hebrew, because I did not grow up with native Hebrew speakers. There are games and slang that Raphaela uses that she has to explain to me, and she will not learn clapping games like "Miss Mary Mack" unless I teach her. They don't tell you when you make aliyah that there will always be this gap in understanding having nothing to do with objective intelligence, but rather an alternative childhood.
And so I learned a new childhood concept in Hebrew, what I called Show and Tell in the United States is called "I have a Secret" in Israel.
Thank goodness for modern technology, because I then texted her teacher and her English instructor, learning that we are to bring at least two items that start with the Hebrew letter "N" and keep it hidden in the special box, which happened to left at her English lessons in another part of Jerusalem.
No worries, Raphaela and I scouted around the house, coming up with four different objects:
a piece of paper ("Niyar" in Hebrew)
a pair of shoes ("Naalayim" in Hebrew)
a large candle ("Ner" in Hebrew)
and a princess doll ("Nesicha" in Hebrew)
I wanted to include a snake ("Nachash") as well, but I could not find the toy in the house. Another possibility, "Nescafe" [that's right, instant coffee] might have amused the teachers but confounded Raphaela's classmates
This morning we first stopped by the house of her English teacher to pick up the brightly decorated Show and Tell tool box, put our secret items inside and then continued on to her Gan. When last I left Raphaela, she was guarding that box as if there were gold bars inside.
On the way home, I began thinking about the reality of an adult who moves to Israel, without the benefit of the experience of concepts and cultural ideas that we take for granted. For example, when I go to the supermarket, I don't know the names of all the vegetables in Hebrew, because I did not grow up with native Hebrew speakers. There are games and slang that Raphaela uses that she has to explain to me, and she will not learn clapping games like "Miss Mary Mack" unless I teach her. They don't tell you when you make aliyah that there will always be this gap in understanding having nothing to do with objective intelligence, but rather an alternative childhood.
Wednesday, April 23, 2014
The Boss of Me
A man in his 40's contacted me a few days ago, off one of the Jewish dating web sites. When I looked at his profile, this is how he described his ideal relationship:" Let the man take care of everything. A man is a man and a girl is a girl."
After editing the thoughts in my head, I wrote back to him that I had hoped it was not his intention to sound like a misogynist, like an ego-driven controlling man with the potential as an abuser. I mildly suggested that he re-read his words and understand how a self-respecting woman in the year 2014 hears them, and is turned off by them.
Really, is the idea of a healthy relationship of equals so foreign to the available men in my age group?
Besides, I already have another human being who is the Boss of me, IE my daughter.
About five minutes after the end of the holiday of Pessach, Raphaela appeared in front of me with a reporter style notebook and a pencil, and dictated the contents of our next shopping list, our official Chametz run: "Croutons, oatmeal, Cheerios, Corn Flakes, waffles, pita bread, fruit bars, pasta and regular chocolate. And oh, don't forget some fruits and vegetables as well!"
After editing the thoughts in my head, I wrote back to him that I had hoped it was not his intention to sound like a misogynist, like an ego-driven controlling man with the potential as an abuser. I mildly suggested that he re-read his words and understand how a self-respecting woman in the year 2014 hears them, and is turned off by them.
Really, is the idea of a healthy relationship of equals so foreign to the available men in my age group?
Besides, I already have another human being who is the Boss of me, IE my daughter.
About five minutes after the end of the holiday of Pessach, Raphaela appeared in front of me with a reporter style notebook and a pencil, and dictated the contents of our next shopping list, our official Chametz run: "Croutons, oatmeal, Cheerios, Corn Flakes, waffles, pita bread, fruit bars, pasta and regular chocolate. And oh, don't forget some fruits and vegetables as well!"
Thursday, March 27, 2014
Spring Forward
This morning Raphaela started poking me when the clock read five am. Fine, I mumbled, give me another half hour. At 5:30 I pulled myself out from under the covers, so pleased that I was getting an early start to the day.
I fed the fish, did some dishes and opened the front door, to find the International New York Times waiting for me. "Good," I thought to myself, "they are finally providing a decent service, now I don't have to call them and remind them to deliver the paper some time before the end of the day."
Raphaela and I put on our shoes to take Harry outside and to feed his street cat friends. There were more cats than I had expected and there was more traffic on the road than usual for that time in the early morning.
When we came home again, I looked at the clock and thought, "So much time to kill this morning." And so, puttering around in my pajamas, I took out my iPad to check my email and play an online game with my friend from the United States. The clock on the iPad read seven am and I grumbled, "Damn technology, doesn't the apple programming know that what time it is? This is why I don't trust this modern stuff."
I stood in the kitchen and packed Raphaela's lunch, humming and giving my brain time to put together the pieces of the most obvious puzzle.
Give it a minute....then the penny dropped.
"SHIT! They changed the clocks last night!! At this rate Raphaela will get to Gan at nine in the morning, just about the time that patients start arriving!!!"
Raphaela asked why I had a panic-stricken look on my face, and I told her that I hate running late and arriving late. I took the quickest shower on record, dressed Raphaela in whatever she wanted and we ran like demons to Gan.
Where we were only the third child to arrive, because apparently this scenario played itself out in almost every home in Jerusalem this morning.
Then I got myself the most amazing and most necessary cup of coffee from the bakery.
I fed the fish, did some dishes and opened the front door, to find the International New York Times waiting for me. "Good," I thought to myself, "they are finally providing a decent service, now I don't have to call them and remind them to deliver the paper some time before the end of the day."
Raphaela and I put on our shoes to take Harry outside and to feed his street cat friends. There were more cats than I had expected and there was more traffic on the road than usual for that time in the early morning.
When we came home again, I looked at the clock and thought, "So much time to kill this morning." And so, puttering around in my pajamas, I took out my iPad to check my email and play an online game with my friend from the United States. The clock on the iPad read seven am and I grumbled, "Damn technology, doesn't the apple programming know that what time it is? This is why I don't trust this modern stuff."
I stood in the kitchen and packed Raphaela's lunch, humming and giving my brain time to put together the pieces of the most obvious puzzle.
Give it a minute....then the penny dropped.
"SHIT! They changed the clocks last night!! At this rate Raphaela will get to Gan at nine in the morning, just about the time that patients start arriving!!!"
Raphaela asked why I had a panic-stricken look on my face, and I told her that I hate running late and arriving late. I took the quickest shower on record, dressed Raphaela in whatever she wanted and we ran like demons to Gan.
Where we were only the third child to arrive, because apparently this scenario played itself out in almost every home in Jerusalem this morning.
Then I got myself the most amazing and most necessary cup of coffee from the bakery.
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