Terminology

I post this to the other single parents who may or may not have thought about this question.
In conversation with my mother recently, she objected to the term "single mother by choice," stating that it implied that we women who have chosen this route want to remain single, like the Amazonian island where Wonder Woman was born.  Instead, my mother recommended the term, "single mother by circumstance."
I explained to my mother that first of all, SMC is the internationally recognized term, which focuses on the concept of choice rather than being perpetually single.  IE, a woman does not want to forfeit the right and joys and challenges of being a mother, just because she has not yet found the right life partner, and is aware of the biological clock ticking away.
Besides, the word "circumstance" implies to me that you went to a bar, got drunk, and got knocked up, that you had less than optimal control over your body and your common sense. "Oops, how did that baby get inside me?  Gosh, I might as well keep it."  Or that you happened to be married and for whatever reason (divorce, widow-hood) the father is no longer in the picture.
When I mentioned to my mother that I have no real objection to finding the right man and getting married, she answered, "Well, for that you would have to be dating..."
To which I replied, "Well in order to date properly I would have to have the time to myself, and a reliable baby sitter..."

Mazal Tov Princess Kate

The two princess who currently serve as major role models and inspirations for Raphaela are the real-life Duchess of Cambridge, Kate Middleton, and Queen Elsa from "Frozen."
When Raphaela heard the news of the royal birth, she sat at her crafts table and drew a picture for Kate and William and their now two children, and insisted that I mail it immediately to England.  Then she took out her prince and princess play set from Playmobil, and that kept us busy for a few hours. 
Though we are "colonists" by British standards, we await with the rest of the loyal subjects to hear the name chosen for this little girl, fourth in line to the throne.
Looking at the photos of the Duchess as she and her husband when leaving the hospital with the new baby Princess, I could only be amazed and jealous.  Of course I don't have a full style team, but didn't she just give birth to an eight pound baby?  The only other woman I know who looked that good right after birth is my cousin in California; after the birth of each of her three children, she posted a photo on social media that had her looking serene and gorgeous, like she had just experienced a spa treatment rather than an arduous labour.

Time Out

It has been almost three years since we returned from a family visit in the United States, and Raphaela decided that my bed is far cozier than hers; she had gotten used to being in the same room as me when we were overseas.


I have tried many methods and bribes to get her back into her own room, none successful for more than one night.


Last night Raphaela had excess energy to the point of misbehaving, and after giving fair warning, she received a time out and a punishment:  we were going to pass on our bedtime story and I needed her to sleep in her own bed, to quiet her body and her mind, and give me some space.  She cried, talked to herself for a while, but eventually settled into her bed and fell asleep.


Having lasted in her room the entire night, she woke me up this morning and told me how wonderful she felt in her own room and her own bed, how warm it was and how nice it is to have her dolls with her.  "Mommy, maybe not reading to me was a punishment, but sleeping in my own bed is not a punishment at all."


Mission accomplished?

Deer Sighting!

With a beautiful national park right down the street from our house, Raphaela and I have frequented the Jerusalem Deer Reserve four times since it opened its doors and today, finally, we spotted actual deer (to be more accurate, gazelle)!  Three of the smaller animals came to the main pond to drink, and all of us sitting there raised a big cheer...whereupon they ran into the field and hid, blending into the tall grass.

At one point Raphaela needed the bathroom, and we were too far away from the only option available to us at the main gate of the park.  Surrounded by nature and not another soul in sight, I told Raphaela to go into the field and hide behind a tree and take care of it.  Several minutes later a clearly American couple could be heard saying, "These Israeli children are disgusting, violating a national park!" That made me the mother of this Israeli child, and hearing their heavily accented Hebrew, I felt the need to reply. I calmly explained in English that she is five and a half and can't "hold it in," and besides, we are not littering per se.  "You disgust me, you Israelis!" was the reply.  I guess after 18 years in this country, I am now officially an Israeli.

On the way home, Raphaela fell and skinned her knew and elbow badly.  I happened to have brought wipes with me, and used them to clean the wound; a man passing by then happened to have a Band-Aid in his pocket.  As I applied the Band-Aid, Raphaela hugged me tight and said, "I am so lucky to have a Mommy who is a doctor!  I wish everyone could have a Mommy like mine."

In Loving Memory

Yesterday, I and several other parents in the Gan had a minor discussion with the head teacher, when she implied that the boy's job is to fight bravely in the Israeli Army, and the girl's job is to adore their men and give them flowers.

Today, when the siren sounds in honor and memory of the 23,320 fallen soldiers since the founding of the State of Israel, all the children in my daughter's school will stand in silence and contemplation, together:  the kids of both the secular and the religious kindergartens, and the elementary students from grade one to six of the art school.  As it should be, because we are all Israelis living in this country thanks to the sacrifice of these men and women, including the 116 who died in the last year.

We put all our differences aside today, to bless these brave souls and the families who lost them.

Tonight, when we transition from mourning to joy, we stand united again.
Happy 67th birthday to Israel, and all its inhabitants.

Opening the Floodgates

Over the course of my life, I have done various sessions of therapy and personal coaching, to help me work out both latent and active issues that I felt were sabotaging my success and happiness.  It was after a year of directed coaching with an amazing psychologist in Jerusalem that I could commit to bringing the person who was eventually Raphaela into the world.


The one problem I have always had with therapy is that even under the best circumstances, this digging and re-evaluation opens up wounds that then sit and fester, until the work to heal them is done.


This past week, I posted a spot-on article on my Facebook feed, which explained seven (out of the many) least helpful statements to say to an actual single mother, no matter how thoughtful the intentions.  To my surprise, it spurred a string of honest and often heart rending comments from several of my Jerusalem friends, also single mothers by choice.  I have always known any parent - and certainly a woman who has no family in the region and has chosen to parent alone - suffers through bouts of doubt, loneliness, anger and frustration.  In fact, in between the amazing and fulfilling moments, being a mother is hard and involves a tremendous amount of personal sacrifice.


But for the first time since Raphaela was born, I was hearing concrete and intense personal vulnerabilities from women whom I consider the bravest heroines I know; women whom you almost never hear complain about who we are and what we do every day for our children.  Their courage and openness gave me the strength to talk about events I have never spoken about to anyone, for fear of being accused of "having gotten myself into something that I cannot handle," and for fear of asking for help when I most truly needed it.


Here's the unfortunate outcome of this blessed event:  now, for the past few days, I am carrying around all these open wounds and real traumas that I have borne in silence for the last seven years, ever since I began fertility treatments. I find myself with much less patience for my life and my daughter, feeling trapped and somehow cheated,  and trying very hard not to take it out on Raphaela.  Because none of this is her fault and because we both deserve a life of positivity and joy.

Marvelous Monday

The morning started with a bang.  While I was in the shower, our cat Harry caught a baby bird in mid-air, brought it back to the windowsill and ate it.  Raphaela watched the whole thing with a combination of horror and enthusiasm, and was most impressed that he did not "waste his food";  though I heard her chastising Harry afterwards, saying to him, "Now don't eat any more birds, OK?"  Harry has been staking out that birds nest since February, waiting for his chance; I give him credit for his patience and his alacrity, not bad for a 13 year old feline.


Once I dropped Raphaela off at school, for time since before the extra-long Pessach vacation, I did a real run in Gan Sacher, with real sweating and fat burning aerobic activity.  With no specific motivation for staying in shape IE no family event or marathon, I must remember the feeling of elation and commit again to continuing the workouts.


Meanwhile, in Gan, Raphaela had a show-and-tell gig.  Until now, children in her class had brought in their sea shell collection, or a favorite doll, or a soccer ball.  Raphaela decided she wanted to talk about her ballet class.  Which led into (naturally) including selections of paintings of Degas's ballet dancers, her favorite artist.  Which meant that she also felt the need to create her own pastel drawing and add that into the presentation.  Sounds more like a small art history thesis to me, I am proud of Raphaela for making these connections and creating an ambitious presentation.


Raphaela's Nature class finished off the day.  I cannot remember my childhood feeling this busy.