Magical Parenting

Until the age of two, Raphaela actively rejected pacifiers.  When we moved somewhat suddenly to the new apartment, she found the drawer with 'baby things,' and started asking for a pacifier before bed time, her comfort reaction to this particular change.

Right before Pessach this year, I explained to Raphaela that the pacifiers contained chametz and therefore had to hide during the holiday;  she would have to learn how to fall asleep without it.  Magically, the pacifiers have disappeared since then, and Raphaela has managed to fall asleep every night like the big girl that she is.

She has only asked me once, and I replied, "Raphaela, you don't wear diapers anymore, even at night, correct?  You dress yourself in the morning, right?  So you are not a baby anymore and you don't need a pacifier!"

Instead, Raphaela has taken to waking up in the middle of the night to "check if the sun is still sleeping," and then returns to bed.  Progress of sorts...

Trials at Wounding with Words

Having gone to a religious all-girls school until high school, I can attest to the fact that kids are mean, and girls are meaner.   They were especially mean to a child who was viewed as different because her parents got divorced when you didn't have rates of marriage dissolution at 60% of the population.  I was that person who was taller than the rest, more shy than the rest and more intelligent than most, and I had trouble developing a thick skin until later in life, at Barnard College, when I realized that I was actually one of the cool kids.

I just don't remember it starting so early...

When I have said "no" to Raphaela or she doesn't agree with a statement I have made, she will pucker up her lips, squint her eyes and say, "I am not your friend anymore."  To which I reply calmly, "OK, I am still your Mommy and I will always love you."

This morning, running late and Raphaela refused to get dressed and I started to lose my temper, Raphaela said, "I want a new Mommy."  And then she clarified, "I want Thea's Mommy [her current BFF] to be my Mommy instead."  Again, I ignored the statement and said, "OK, time to get dressed and go to Gan."

When we arrived at Gan, several of the children were sitting at a table and sharing the various snacks their parents had sent with them in the morning.  They chanted at another girl, "You don't get any snacks from us and you don't get any candies."  For some reason there was no teacher in the room at that moment, and the girl who had been left out and taunted started welling up with tears;  at that point out of pity perhaps, or compassion, one of the children at the table got up and gave her a corn flake.

Yes, kids are mean, and I hope that Raphaela learns to deal with it sooner than I did.

Yom HaShoah 2013

Every year I watch the ceremony at Yad VaShem in Jerusalem,  in memory of the six million who were murdered by the Nazis in World War II.  Every year I cry, but not for the reasons you might think.

I cry in awe of the bravery of the Jews who left their parents, who jumped off the Death Trains or hid in piles of dead bodies, who assumed false identities so they could help from the outside or joined the Partisans in the forest, never to see their families again.

I cry in wonderment of the Righteous Among the Gentiles, those who took in wounded Jews, healed them and hid them at the risk of their own lives.  These courageous people saved one man or woman, thus allowing them to marry, and see their family flourish. 

Save one person, save the world.

I cry in joy when the six Holocaust survivors represent their dwindling population and light the six torches, because they stand there alive and actively living, with the fire of life handed to them by one of their grandchildren, in the State of Israel.  One of the torch bearers said it best last night, with a twinkle in his eyes;  that after all he did to survive the Nazi atrocity, he sits in Israel happy, surrounded by children, grandchildren and even great-grandchildren. 

This is the Jewish victory. Never forget, never again!

I also feel extremely lucky and blessed after bearing witness to these stories, after honoring these souls.  After the program last night, I could not help but tip-toe into Raphaela's room and watch her sleep, knowing that she is safe with me, and in the Land of the Jewish People.

This year, as we commemorate the 70th anniversary of the Warsaw Ghetto uprising, we remind that world that the Jews did fight back, that we were not then nor are we today "lambs to the slaughter."

The Magic Moment

...When Everything in the Universe Goes "Click!"

Raphaela has started early reading skills under my guidance, and she has most of the phonics down pat.  Yesterday I was wearing a "Fox" sweatshirt, and thought it might be interesting to see if Raphaela could sound out the word.  (Fox is the Israeli equivalent of the American Gap store.)

And indeed, I watched as the gears in her brain spun behind her eyes, as she sounded out each letter and came to her first full word, read all by herself.  I jumped for joy, hugged her and saw her own pride and sense of accomplishment as her face glowed with pleasure, at the idea that someday she may even read entire books by herself.

We are a long way from full reading, lord knows that the English language contains more exceptions than most other on the planet, but I will never forget that look on Raphaela's face, and the knowledge that this little creature that came from me is capable of amazing things.

Focal Laryngitis

Since the end of Pessach, I have been suffering from what I am calling "Focal Laryngitis."  I don't have a fever or a runny nose, I simply feel like my entire throat is covered in some crap that prevents me from talking, and causes me to violently cough every time I try to speak and complete a sentence.  My GP assures me it represents the combination of my seasonal allergies, a virus Raphaela must have picked up from Gan, and the freakish sand storm weather that has visited Israel in the last week.

This situation has caused major communication problems with my daughter, who hears my scratchy voice (I like to think of it more as sexy...) and thinks that I am angry at her.  Over the last week and a half, I have answered this question more times than I can count:

Mommy:  (Scratch scratch cough cough)
Raphaela: Are you my friend?
Mommy : (Nodding head furiously, while coughing)
Raphaela:  Are you angry at me?
Mommy:  (In a whisper)  Raphaela, I am your friend and your Mommy.  I love you, but it hurts me very much when I talk.
Raphaela:  (Not believing me) Why?
Mommy:  Why what?
Raphaela:  Why does your throat hurt?

The morning version of this conversation goes like this:

Mommy:  (cough cough cough)
Raphaela:  Mommy, are you still sick?  Will you be able to talk today?
Mommy:  (In a whisper) I don't know, we will have to wait and see.
Raphaela:  Are you my friend?

As a Chiropractor, I make a lousy patient when I am feeling ill, and the last thing I want is for Raphaela to take it personally.  There were at least several days last week that Raphaela arrived at Gan pouting and withdrawn because of my inability to communicate with the spoken word.

Then, to add to the fun, one day last week when I sat in bed resting and slightly bored, I messaged the guy I thought has been my boyfriend for the last several months.  The message read, "Resting in bed, thinking about you."

Silly me!  (Mental picture for your head of me saying "D'oh!" and smacking myself on the forehead)  Several days later, the man/boy called me to tell me that our "tryst" is starting to feel "too much like a real relationship," which he doesn't want.  Unable to truly speak my mind and my heart, I croaked through the phone call and hung up, more dejected than ever.

Reality Check

Raphaela, whose sleep schedule was decimated by the holiday, sang and chatted to herself for almost one hour after being tucked into bed.

I came into the room and asked why she was not quietly asleep, and my child replied that she was "just talking to Bunny, " her oldest and most cherished transitional object.

In response, I affected my most patient and sweet voice possible after a long and difficult day at work;  and suggested to Bunny that he close his eyes, that Raphaela needs a good night's sleep, and that Bunny should not keep her awake.

Raphaela then adopted her Bunny voice and answered most practically, in her doll's name: "I am not an actual animal, I am just a doll. I can't really talk and I certainly can't close my eyes!"

The Euphoria of the Day After

I spent part of last night returning the kitchen and the house to post-Pessach normal.  This morning, Raphaela woke up and  she first noticed the absence of tape from various drawers and cabinets.  She ran over to me, waving a (chametz) spoon, and with utter joy in her voice, she said, "Mommy, now I can open the drawer and get...spoons!"

About five minutes later, she discovered that her play dough, which had gone into hiding over the holiday, had magically reappeared in her crafts box.  Again, overwhelmed by the find, she carefully placed each packet of dough onto her play table as a grin washed across her face.

After I came out of the shower, Raphaela came over to me with a very serious and concerned look on her face;  she needed to clarify the status of ice cream cones.  "Cones are chametz, correct?'  she asked.

"Yes," I answered, "but now that Pessach is over, we can have ice cream with cones instead of a bowl."

"Hooray!  That's what I would like for breakfast please!"

(For the record, she did not in fact have an ice cream cone for breakfast, she had coconut cookies left over from the holiday...)