Although Gan for Raphaela officially ends on August 4th this year, July begins the season of Summer, the season of camp and the "Great Vacation." From what I understand, Raphaela has the same teachers and the same basic schedule but they change it up a little, so the staff and the kids can get through the next month.
The manager of the Gan specifically approached me to let me know that in honor of the Great Vacation they had introduced a new activity, an English lesson for the children. According to my bilingual daughter, today they introduced the concept of "up/down," "closed/open" and "hello/goodbye." There are in fact many bilingual children in her class of 34, so I imagine several of them including Raphaela must have felt very comfortable; especially since we are already deep into early reading in English.
I think that all Israeli parents should introduce their Hebrew speaking children to English, as it is the language of the Internet and hence of the planet at the moment. A high level of the international language would grant any child an advantage when they eventually enter the adult world.
However, I feel like this sabotages other plans in place for the year: since September, her teachers have made a concerted effort to teach my daughter that Hebrish is not an easily understood language, that we (the royal We that is my offspring) speak English at home and Hebrew in school. Only last week did the Head Teacher proudly exclaim victory, that for the first time the entire nine hour day passed and not a word of English escaped from her mouth.
I hope that the introduction of English does not set her back, since Raphaela will need fluent Hebrew to excel in the Israeli school system.
Meanwhile, I am brushing up on my Chinese, since soon they will become the owners of the entire planet.
Monday, July 1, 2013
Saturday, June 29, 2013
Sign of the Times
"The Cat in the Hat Comes Back," written in 1958 as a sequel to the classic, "The Cat in the Hat," ostensibly teaches the alphabet, and the lesson that as long as you clean up your mess before your parents come home, it all works out.
Every week we take a book out of our local library for new reading on Shabbat, and "The Cat in the Hat Comes Back" won this weeks lottery. I didn't remember it all that well from my own childhood, and was surprised to find that I had a few unexpected objections to the text.
For starters, in both this book and the original, Sally and her brother are left home alone by their parents, and they don't seem old enough; I wonder why the mother and father would not consider hiring a baby sitter.
Secondly, when the Cat in the Hat cleans the mess he has caused, at a certain point he transfers it to "Dad's bedroom." Is this a reflection of married life in the 50's, where parents slept in separate rooms? Or is it the male-centered society of the last several centuries defining the parents' private space as controlled by the Man of the House? (Historical or other explanations welcome.)
But most seriously disturbing was the language used toward the end of the book, when the Cat in the Hat must call upon his A-B-C minions to clean up the pink snow. (From the cake he was eating in the bathtub, don't ask...More preferable in any case to yellow snow.)
And I quote,
My cats are all clever.
My cats are good shots.
My cats have good guns. [pop-guns]
They will kill all those spots...
"Come on! Kill those spots!
Kill the mess!" yelled the cats.
And they jumped at the snow
With long rakes and red bats.
Perhaps Dr. Seuss was attempting some anti-war statement, but in today's era of shootings at schools, a rise in violence overall, and the American debate about gun control laws, I would hardly consider this language appropriate for children Raphaela's age. So I found myself changing the text, using the word "fix" instead of "kill," and toning down the number of times the word "bad" is used throughout the book.
My generation of parents, we are raising our children in a post 9/11 environment, in the era where PC language rules. Beyond that, I am raising Raphaela in a country where war and terrorism come into the house along with breakfast cereal; she certainly does not have to learn the word "kill" any earlier than is necessary.
Every week we take a book out of our local library for new reading on Shabbat, and "The Cat in the Hat Comes Back" won this weeks lottery. I didn't remember it all that well from my own childhood, and was surprised to find that I had a few unexpected objections to the text.
For starters, in both this book and the original, Sally and her brother are left home alone by their parents, and they don't seem old enough; I wonder why the mother and father would not consider hiring a baby sitter.
Secondly, when the Cat in the Hat cleans the mess he has caused, at a certain point he transfers it to "Dad's bedroom." Is this a reflection of married life in the 50's, where parents slept in separate rooms? Or is it the male-centered society of the last several centuries defining the parents' private space as controlled by the Man of the House? (Historical or other explanations welcome.)
But most seriously disturbing was the language used toward the end of the book, when the Cat in the Hat must call upon his A-B-C minions to clean up the pink snow. (From the cake he was eating in the bathtub, don't ask...More preferable in any case to yellow snow.)
And I quote,
My cats are all clever.
My cats are good shots.
My cats have good guns. [pop-guns]
They will kill all those spots...
"Come on! Kill those spots!
Kill the mess!" yelled the cats.
And they jumped at the snow
With long rakes and red bats.
Perhaps Dr. Seuss was attempting some anti-war statement, but in today's era of shootings at schools, a rise in violence overall, and the American debate about gun control laws, I would hardly consider this language appropriate for children Raphaela's age. So I found myself changing the text, using the word "fix" instead of "kill," and toning down the number of times the word "bad" is used throughout the book.
My generation of parents, we are raising our children in a post 9/11 environment, in the era where PC language rules. Beyond that, I am raising Raphaela in a country where war and terrorism come into the house along with breakfast cereal; she certainly does not have to learn the word "kill" any earlier than is necessary.
Sunday, June 23, 2013
One Month Before My Birthday...
Last night I dreamt that I had gone to the hospital to visit a friend who was in labor and about to give birth. While I was standing there, I went into labor myself, and gave birth to a happy red-headed infant, whom I named Jenny. [Possibly a reference to a Doctor Who episode]
This child was clearly conceived through immaculate conception, because I remember feeling quite surprised that I had apparently been pregnant and didn't realize it. Both my mother and my grandmother (Rest in Peace) came to see me, and my grandmother was informing all those who would listen that this birth represented very bad timing, because I have donated all of Raphaela's smaller clothing, including the new-baby stuff, and because I have also donated or sold all of her baby accouterments, like her crib and stroller and standing bath and infant car seat.
[In fact, as I get closer to my birthday in real life, the donation of these items will take place some time this week, once I have found a worthy and legitimate charitable organization in Jerusalem.]
As it was a Friday morning, [Raphaela was born on a Friday morning in real life] I nursed Baby Jenny and tucked her into a cradle that looked more like a cardboard box, and lit Shabbat candles; once she fell asleep, I resumed the previous dream, in which I was traveling for the summer with a group and we were trying to decide upon an amusement park. I wanted to ride on the largest and most scary roller coaster.
As this group of my peers were arguing over the itinerary, I realized that I could not abandon Jenny even if she was unplanned and most inconvenient. I smiled when I thought about Raphaela as an older sister, and laughed at the idea of raising not one but two girls. I told my friends, "I have to go back for Jenny!"
And I woke up.
This child was clearly conceived through immaculate conception, because I remember feeling quite surprised that I had apparently been pregnant and didn't realize it. Both my mother and my grandmother (Rest in Peace) came to see me, and my grandmother was informing all those who would listen that this birth represented very bad timing, because I have donated all of Raphaela's smaller clothing, including the new-baby stuff, and because I have also donated or sold all of her baby accouterments, like her crib and stroller and standing bath and infant car seat.
[In fact, as I get closer to my birthday in real life, the donation of these items will take place some time this week, once I have found a worthy and legitimate charitable organization in Jerusalem.]
As it was a Friday morning, [Raphaela was born on a Friday morning in real life] I nursed Baby Jenny and tucked her into a cradle that looked more like a cardboard box, and lit Shabbat candles; once she fell asleep, I resumed the previous dream, in which I was traveling for the summer with a group and we were trying to decide upon an amusement park. I wanted to ride on the largest and most scary roller coaster.
As this group of my peers were arguing over the itinerary, I realized that I could not abandon Jenny even if she was unplanned and most inconvenient. I smiled when I thought about Raphaela as an older sister, and laughed at the idea of raising not one but two girls. I told my friends, "I have to go back for Jenny!"
And I woke up.
Thursday, June 20, 2013
Gratitude
I admit, as my 45th birthday gets closer, I have been indulging in a fair amount of self-pity and unnecessary ruminations, about my body falling apart, the financial stress of being a single parent, and a host of other legitimate issues.
Then today, Raphaela's Gan sent a letter home to all the parents that a particular (anonymous) family within our little nursery community was suffering from a serious financial crisis, to the extent that they have been unable to pay their tuition; they are apparently practically homeless. The Gan will be taking up anonymous donations to cover their tuition, and any extra will go directly to the family to help them through this crisis.
And so I want to say thank you, and express a deep appreciation to G-d. Thank you for a roof over our heads, and for our health, and for our hyper-intelligent cat (my first born) Harry; and despite the daily struggle, I have been blessed with a joyous and healthy child, worth all the riches in the Universe.
Then today, Raphaela's Gan sent a letter home to all the parents that a particular (anonymous) family within our little nursery community was suffering from a serious financial crisis, to the extent that they have been unable to pay their tuition; they are apparently practically homeless. The Gan will be taking up anonymous donations to cover their tuition, and any extra will go directly to the family to help them through this crisis.
And so I want to say thank you, and express a deep appreciation to G-d. Thank you for a roof over our heads, and for our health, and for our hyper-intelligent cat (my first born) Harry; and despite the daily struggle, I have been blessed with a joyous and healthy child, worth all the riches in the Universe.
Developmental Milestones
This past Shabbat, I said to Raphaela, "OK, now we are taking our special Shabbat nap." I can enjoy this rare treat only on the weekend.
Raphaela explained that as she has taken to less naps during the week at Gan, she does not feel tired now and does not want to rest with me. I told her that if she let me sleep, and if she didn't burn down the house, she was more than welcome to play on her own. I added that if she in fact changed her mind, she was more than welcome to crawl into her own bed and rest.
I don't know how I fell asleep at all. The last time I left Raphaela awake she decided to "help" me with the laundry, and I woke up to a house covered in clothing detergent. Then there was the time she decided to "bake challah," and put plastic Lego's into the actual oven, put on the actual oven and almost destroyed the kitchen.
But close my eyes I did, and two hours later I woke up and lo and behold, the house was in one piece and Raphaela had set up a beautiful birthday party for one of her dolls.
All hail this new and miraculous era of child rearing!
Raphaela explained that as she has taken to less naps during the week at Gan, she does not feel tired now and does not want to rest with me. I told her that if she let me sleep, and if she didn't burn down the house, she was more than welcome to play on her own. I added that if she in fact changed her mind, she was more than welcome to crawl into her own bed and rest.
I don't know how I fell asleep at all. The last time I left Raphaela awake she decided to "help" me with the laundry, and I woke up to a house covered in clothing detergent. Then there was the time she decided to "bake challah," and put plastic Lego's into the actual oven, put on the actual oven and almost destroyed the kitchen.
But close my eyes I did, and two hours later I woke up and lo and behold, the house was in one piece and Raphaela had set up a beautiful birthday party for one of her dolls.
All hail this new and miraculous era of child rearing!
Monday, June 17, 2013
The Power of Words
Over Shabbat, Raphaela told and retold the story of a certain boy in her class ("M") who has taken to pushing the limits of his parents and his teachers. According to my fascinated daughter (and confirmed by the staff), this M has taken to insulting his fellow class mates with all the words that describe icky bodily function, as well as perfecting the art of short-range spitting.
All weekend, this is what I heard:
RR: Mommy, did you know that M called another boy (*****) [ Insert gross word here, word that four year olds find funny] and made him cry?
Mom: Raphaela, in our house we don't hurt people's feelings or use icky words.
RR: Mommy, M also used the word (*****) and the other boy said that he didn't like it.
I was starting to understand that Raphaela kept this tale going because she understood that this represented the only avenue for her to repeat these words herself, in the legitimate context of the story. And so I redirected...
Mom: Let's come up with some nice words and some nice things we can do to help people feel better!
Mom and RR: Flowers! Love! Ice Cream! Chocolate! Hugs and Kisses!
I hoped the issue had worn out its welcome. Several hours later, Raphaela came over to me and whispered in my ear, "(*****)." When I reiterated that we do not tolerate bad language in our house, she looked at me and said, "But Mommy, right now I am not Raphaela, I am M!"
(Why is it that we women always go for the 'bad boys'?)
All weekend, this is what I heard:
RR: Mommy, did you know that M called another boy (*****) [ Insert gross word here, word that four year olds find funny] and made him cry?
Mom: Raphaela, in our house we don't hurt people's feelings or use icky words.
RR: Mommy, M also used the word (*****) and the other boy said that he didn't like it.
I was starting to understand that Raphaela kept this tale going because she understood that this represented the only avenue for her to repeat these words herself, in the legitimate context of the story. And so I redirected...
Mom: Let's come up with some nice words and some nice things we can do to help people feel better!
Mom and RR: Flowers! Love! Ice Cream! Chocolate! Hugs and Kisses!
I hoped the issue had worn out its welcome. Several hours later, Raphaela came over to me and whispered in my ear, "(*****)." When I reiterated that we do not tolerate bad language in our house, she looked at me and said, "But Mommy, right now I am not Raphaela, I am M!"
(Why is it that we women always go for the 'bad boys'?)
Friday, June 14, 2013
Friday Round-Up
Lately Raphaela 'borrows' my portable coffee cup and takes it to Gan in the morning, filled either with water or herbal tea that she merrily sips. This morning she showed the cup to one of the two teachers who had already arrived, and Raphaela explained that she needs to drink water because otherwise, "Mommy says that my pee will be brown, and that's not healthy."
From across the room, one of the teachers laughed at the statement, presumably in surprise at hearing the sentence from a three and a half year old. The other teacher - who has communicated in the past that she feels this teacher takes her job less seriously that she should - glared with the Look of Death across the room, pulled over Raphaela and said very seriously, "Raphaela, dehydration is NOT funny, it's actually very sad. You should drink water all day, especially when it's hot outside. It's not funny at all."
===============================================================
This morning, every time I attempted to start my shower, Raphaela came up with another task for me. Here I am, literally running around the house naked and fulfilling her demands, and at a certain point I drew the line; Raphaela wanted to paint and I told her that she could have paper and crayons but nothing more until she returned from Gan in the afternoon.
I could hear her crying as I finished my shower.
At noon, when I picked her up and we arrived home, she asked to do art projects, and I gave her paper with crayons and markers and paints. Raphaela paused and said, "Mommy, are you nice?" I looked at her funny and asked to repeat the question, which she did, several times.
Then my daughter qualified the question, "Because this morning you were an angry Mommy and you didn't give me paints."
I assured Raphaela that I was feeling like a Happy Mommy, and that I didn't like to be angry as a general rule,. She hugged me and said, "Thank you, thank you!"
===============================================================
This afternoon Raphaela attended a birthday party of one of her classmates, and on the way out each child had the option to construct their own loot bag. She chose a toffee and a small bag of cereal, and then had the option of either funky sunglasses or a toy gun.
Raphaela deliberated for quite a while, and then to my surprise chose the gun, though I am still fairly sure that she has no idea what it represents. I asked her what this toy does, and she answered that it is called a "Ptoo ptoo"; my daughter then illustrated its use, jabbing it into the air and making the sound effects of a weapon.
I assume she learned about guns in school, from the boys in her class. At this point I will leave her naive about the rest, as I am sure that as she grows up and understands the land and Israeli culture in which she lives, a gun will make perfect sense. I still dream of a day when she will not have to go into the army or worry on a regular basis about her personal security.
From across the room, one of the teachers laughed at the statement, presumably in surprise at hearing the sentence from a three and a half year old. The other teacher - who has communicated in the past that she feels this teacher takes her job less seriously that she should - glared with the Look of Death across the room, pulled over Raphaela and said very seriously, "Raphaela, dehydration is NOT funny, it's actually very sad. You should drink water all day, especially when it's hot outside. It's not funny at all."
===============================================================
This morning, every time I attempted to start my shower, Raphaela came up with another task for me. Here I am, literally running around the house naked and fulfilling her demands, and at a certain point I drew the line; Raphaela wanted to paint and I told her that she could have paper and crayons but nothing more until she returned from Gan in the afternoon.
I could hear her crying as I finished my shower.
At noon, when I picked her up and we arrived home, she asked to do art projects, and I gave her paper with crayons and markers and paints. Raphaela paused and said, "Mommy, are you nice?" I looked at her funny and asked to repeat the question, which she did, several times.
Then my daughter qualified the question, "Because this morning you were an angry Mommy and you didn't give me paints."
I assured Raphaela that I was feeling like a Happy Mommy, and that I didn't like to be angry as a general rule,. She hugged me and said, "Thank you, thank you!"
===============================================================
This afternoon Raphaela attended a birthday party of one of her classmates, and on the way out each child had the option to construct their own loot bag. She chose a toffee and a small bag of cereal, and then had the option of either funky sunglasses or a toy gun.
Raphaela deliberated for quite a while, and then to my surprise chose the gun, though I am still fairly sure that she has no idea what it represents. I asked her what this toy does, and she answered that it is called a "Ptoo ptoo"; my daughter then illustrated its use, jabbing it into the air and making the sound effects of a weapon.
I assume she learned about guns in school, from the boys in her class. At this point I will leave her naive about the rest, as I am sure that as she grows up and understands the land and Israeli culture in which she lives, a gun will make perfect sense. I still dream of a day when she will not have to go into the army or worry on a regular basis about her personal security.
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