In the heat of the Israeli Summer, Raphaela goes to sleep with a full set of pajamas and they somehow disappear by the morning. The long days have not changed her predilection for the early hours, and our day starts between five and five thirty am.
Raphaela: (Looking bleary eyed and wearing only her birthday suit, comes into my room and wakes me up) Mommy, I have to get dressed!
Me: (Bleary eyed and vaguely annoyed) It's not a rush, after all, it's not like we have a party to attend at this hour.
Raphaela: (Eyes brightening) Oh, not so! We must get ready for the birthday party!
Me: Whose birthday party?
Raphaela: The vowels, it's their birthday.
Within five minutes she returned, fully clothed in a party dress and her fancy Shabbat shoes; pulling off my covers, she chastised me for my slothfulness, "Nu nu, are you ready yet for the party?"
This child will keep me young, and thank goodness for that.
Saturday, July 13, 2013
Monday, July 8, 2013
Magical Radar
Tonight I attended a meeting of the Israel Barnard Alumnae Club, which featured the highly accomplished President of Barnard College, Debora Spar, with a fantastic view of the Old City of Jerusalem. She addressed the core issue of the modern woman, the need to be all things to everyone; and the fact that the Feminist movement, rather than freeing women to pursue the life of their choosing, has further imprisoned them with heightened expectations of perfection, and the continued traditional responsibility for the family.
Spar reported that in the United States, mothers spend an average of 38 hours per week on housework, over and above "real jobs" either part time or full time. The participation of husbands/fathers in housework has increased from seven minutes to two hours per week, still a drop in the bucket, however appreciated.
I always enjoy being surrounded by the company of like-minded women, and college is easily the one time in my life that I would gladly repeat.
I left Raphaela with a new baby sitter, and managed to avoid the urge to call and check in on their activities throughout the evening. Of course, when I walked through the door (way past Raphaela's bedtime) she had magically woken up only minutes before, she somehow knew that I was on my way home.
Spar reported that in the United States, mothers spend an average of 38 hours per week on housework, over and above "real jobs" either part time or full time. The participation of husbands/fathers in housework has increased from seven minutes to two hours per week, still a drop in the bucket, however appreciated.
I always enjoy being surrounded by the company of like-minded women, and college is easily the one time in my life that I would gladly repeat.
I left Raphaela with a new baby sitter, and managed to avoid the urge to call and check in on their activities throughout the evening. Of course, when I walked through the door (way past Raphaela's bedtime) she had magically woken up only minutes before, she somehow knew that I was on my way home.
Friday, July 5, 2013
Reading Material
When my brother and I were young, we would eat our breakfast with cereal boxes in front of our noses, fascinating and essential reading.
Raphaela and I have begun a new tradition with our morning cereal: I bought a 2012-2013 calendar from the Metropolitan Museum in New York, and each day we change the picture to see and learn about the day's work of art, a sampling of the vast collection of the place that was my second home when I lived in The City.
Yesterday featured a 1904 Stickley Brothers Cabinet, made of oak wood cedar and mahogany, and with two beautiful stained glass windows for the doors. They don't make furniture like this anymore, and I certainly could not find a pure wood closet at the local Israeli IKEA.
I asked Raphaela what she would place inside a cabinet like this, and I taught her a little about the art of stained glass. Then Raphaela said, "I like this so much. Mommy, after you drop me off at Gan tomorrow, can you go buy me a cabinet like this?"
Sure, my child, as soon as I step into my Tardis...
Raphaela and I have begun a new tradition with our morning cereal: I bought a 2012-2013 calendar from the Metropolitan Museum in New York, and each day we change the picture to see and learn about the day's work of art, a sampling of the vast collection of the place that was my second home when I lived in The City.
Yesterday featured a 1904 Stickley Brothers Cabinet, made of oak wood cedar and mahogany, and with two beautiful stained glass windows for the doors. They don't make furniture like this anymore, and I certainly could not find a pure wood closet at the local Israeli IKEA.
I asked Raphaela what she would place inside a cabinet like this, and I taught her a little about the art of stained glass. Then Raphaela said, "I like this so much. Mommy, after you drop me off at Gan tomorrow, can you go buy me a cabinet like this?"
Sure, my child, as soon as I step into my Tardis...
Thursday, July 4, 2013
Summer Camp Memories
Ah, Eagle Day Camp! The local Jewish Day Camp in our area in New Jersey, all of the kids from the neighborhood went there, and we spent two quality months swimming and putting on plays and playing dodge ball. The camp had their own uniform, an Eagle Day Camp t-shirt, and so getting dressed in the morning required no thought or planning.
Years later I worked as a bus counselor and Lifeguard at the Jacob and Rose Grossman Day Camp in Boston, and saw the experience from the other side, and found it just as enjoyable. The Lifeguards were the coolest staff in camp, if you ignored the snakes and snapping turtles in the lake. We saw the kids for a half hour at a time and then they returned to their haggard bunk counselors. We got to walk around in our bathing suits all day.
One of those summers, on Parents' Day, one very ambitious six year old boy decided to show his parents how well he knew the crawl stroke, and found himself in deeper water than he expected. I was already dressed in my favorite Yankees pullover, when I saw him struggling in the water. Without thinking, I jumped into the water and pulled him out, performing this dramatic rescue in front of all the parents and staff present. For years the story was told and became legend, and my younger brother would boast proudly, "That was my sister!"
This year, in Jerusalem, I must admit that I am spoiled and have no right to complain. Raphaela's Gan finishes at the beginning of August, and then she will attend a week long camp for bilingual (Hebrew/English) speaking children. There are only two weeks before school begins again, where I must obtain a baby sitter and make plans to work around Raphaela's lack of schedule.
Most Israeli parents have had vacation since July. Many of the pre-school programs arrange what they call Camp: same teachers, same facilities, less hours and less structure, for which they charge extra so that parents may continue to work, albeit part-time. Then you can send your child to a camp here, a camp there, for one to three weeks at a time and again, pay more money for these brief programs than you did all year for nursery.
A friend of mine and mother of three said to me today, "I work all year so I can send my kids to camp for two months."
Next year, when Raphaela will officially participate in the Municipality school system, I will struggle with the same issues as these parents, more vacation days than she has ever had before. Paradoxically, the new incompetent Minister of Finance claims that his sole purpose is to encourage families and especially women to enter the workforce. But how is a mother or father supposed to keep a normal workday if their children have no program or supervision for two months out of the year? And how am I as a single mother supposed to work a full schedule when I have no one at all to pick up the slack?
Recently I celebrated my 16th anniversary of my move to Israel; I noted to a friend today that Israel is my home and for all its flaws I am here to stay. However, Israel could learn from the American institution of consistent, high quality, cost-effective summer camps. With youth centers scattered all over the country (paid for by the overwhelming profits of the Israeli Lottery), nursery school staff and eager teenagers, the infrastructure already exists.
Years later I worked as a bus counselor and Lifeguard at the Jacob and Rose Grossman Day Camp in Boston, and saw the experience from the other side, and found it just as enjoyable. The Lifeguards were the coolest staff in camp, if you ignored the snakes and snapping turtles in the lake. We saw the kids for a half hour at a time and then they returned to their haggard bunk counselors. We got to walk around in our bathing suits all day.
One of those summers, on Parents' Day, one very ambitious six year old boy decided to show his parents how well he knew the crawl stroke, and found himself in deeper water than he expected. I was already dressed in my favorite Yankees pullover, when I saw him struggling in the water. Without thinking, I jumped into the water and pulled him out, performing this dramatic rescue in front of all the parents and staff present. For years the story was told and became legend, and my younger brother would boast proudly, "That was my sister!"
This year, in Jerusalem, I must admit that I am spoiled and have no right to complain. Raphaela's Gan finishes at the beginning of August, and then she will attend a week long camp for bilingual (Hebrew/English) speaking children. There are only two weeks before school begins again, where I must obtain a baby sitter and make plans to work around Raphaela's lack of schedule.
Most Israeli parents have had vacation since July. Many of the pre-school programs arrange what they call Camp: same teachers, same facilities, less hours and less structure, for which they charge extra so that parents may continue to work, albeit part-time. Then you can send your child to a camp here, a camp there, for one to three weeks at a time and again, pay more money for these brief programs than you did all year for nursery.
A friend of mine and mother of three said to me today, "I work all year so I can send my kids to camp for two months."
Next year, when Raphaela will officially participate in the Municipality school system, I will struggle with the same issues as these parents, more vacation days than she has ever had before. Paradoxically, the new incompetent Minister of Finance claims that his sole purpose is to encourage families and especially women to enter the workforce. But how is a mother or father supposed to keep a normal workday if their children have no program or supervision for two months out of the year? And how am I as a single mother supposed to work a full schedule when I have no one at all to pick up the slack?
Recently I celebrated my 16th anniversary of my move to Israel; I noted to a friend today that Israel is my home and for all its flaws I am here to stay. However, Israel could learn from the American institution of consistent, high quality, cost-effective summer camps. With youth centers scattered all over the country (paid for by the overwhelming profits of the Israeli Lottery), nursery school staff and eager teenagers, the infrastructure already exists.
Monday, July 1, 2013
Reduce, Reuse, Recycle
Spam is everywhere, on our computers and our smart phones, and in our mailbox. I have become accustomed to the expectation that almost every day my mailbox will be full of very little useful actual letters, and mostly fliers for some course or some restaurant or some fix-it professional.
Yesterday when Raphaela and I returned from Gan, the floor of the lobby of our building was littered, like snow, with the day's supply of spam fliers. Israelis in general tend to pay less attention to garbage lying on the ground, because "someone else will pick it up" and eventually someone else will clean up the planet when we are long gone.
I recycle what I can and what Jerusalem allows at the moment, mostly paper and plastic, and if you can find a recycling center, batteries and old tech. For some reason - the blistering heat, my lack of sleep, my becoming more Israeli after 16 years - on this day I walked right past the junk on the floor and toward the elevator.
My daughter stopped me and said, "Mommy, who made this mess?" When I didn't immediately respond, she said, "Mommy, someone has to pick it up!" And when I didn't immediately react, Raphaela pulled me over to the papers and the fliers, handed them to me and said, "Mommy, WE have to clean it up and recycle. We can't walk by and just leave it here."
Yesterday when Raphaela and I returned from Gan, the floor of the lobby of our building was littered, like snow, with the day's supply of spam fliers. Israelis in general tend to pay less attention to garbage lying on the ground, because "someone else will pick it up" and eventually someone else will clean up the planet when we are long gone.
I recycle what I can and what Jerusalem allows at the moment, mostly paper and plastic, and if you can find a recycling center, batteries and old tech. For some reason - the blistering heat, my lack of sleep, my becoming more Israeli after 16 years - on this day I walked right past the junk on the floor and toward the elevator.
My daughter stopped me and said, "Mommy, who made this mess?" When I didn't immediately respond, she said, "Mommy, someone has to pick it up!" And when I didn't immediately react, Raphaela pulled me over to the papers and the fliers, handed them to me and said, "Mommy, WE have to clean it up and recycle. We can't walk by and just leave it here."
Courtship RIP
Yesterday afternoon
Text Message: Hi, it's me!
(Thinking it could be a confused patient, I call back the number and get the answering machine for some clinic that I do not recognize. I leave a message that I don't know who this is, but if you need help please call me back.)
Text Message: I'm busy right now for the next two hours. So I'll see you at 8 pm.
Me Text: Who are you? Do I know you? Had we actually set any plans together?
Text Message: You don't know me. Your cousin gave me your number so we could be introduced.
Me Text Dude, first things first, you didn't even tell me your name. Secondly, I'm sure that my cousin told you that I have a child.
Text Message: She did.
Me Text: That being said, I cannot spontaneously plan an evening with you, because I have to arrange a baby sitter.
Me Text: Don't you think it would be better if we perhaps had a phone conversation first, even briefly, before we make other plans? What's your name?
Text Message: Apologies!
Me Text: (sighing inside) OK, so my daughter goes to sleep around 8:30. You can call me after that, but DON'T call this cell phone. It is my work phone and I tend to ignore it in the evenings. Here is my land line number. I also tend to go to sleep by 10:30 pm.
Text Message: Thanks.
(11 pm, cell phone rings. I barely register it because I am in deep sleep. This morning I check and there is a message from this Mystery Man/Boy who is apparently clueless and a terrible listener.)
Phone Message: Hi, it's me! And I will be awake all night so feel free to call any time. You have my number.
Indeed.
Text Message: Hi, it's me!
(Thinking it could be a confused patient, I call back the number and get the answering machine for some clinic that I do not recognize. I leave a message that I don't know who this is, but if you need help please call me back.)
Text Message: I'm busy right now for the next two hours. So I'll see you at 8 pm.
Me Text: Who are you? Do I know you? Had we actually set any plans together?
Text Message: You don't know me. Your cousin gave me your number so we could be introduced.
Me Text Dude, first things first, you didn't even tell me your name. Secondly, I'm sure that my cousin told you that I have a child.
Text Message: She did.
Me Text: That being said, I cannot spontaneously plan an evening with you, because I have to arrange a baby sitter.
Me Text: Don't you think it would be better if we perhaps had a phone conversation first, even briefly, before we make other plans? What's your name?
Text Message: Apologies!
Me Text: (sighing inside) OK, so my daughter goes to sleep around 8:30. You can call me after that, but DON'T call this cell phone. It is my work phone and I tend to ignore it in the evenings. Here is my land line number. I also tend to go to sleep by 10:30 pm.
Text Message: Thanks.
(11 pm, cell phone rings. I barely register it because I am in deep sleep. This morning I check and there is a message from this Mystery Man/Boy who is apparently clueless and a terrible listener.)
Phone Message: Hi, it's me! And I will be awake all night so feel free to call any time. You have my number.
Indeed.
English-Free Zone?
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.
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.
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