America the Beautiful

While the rest of my family celebrated their second day of chag (ha!) I took Raphaela out for a walk, as the rain had subsided for the most part, and I felt the need to do something with my body besides eat.

I have lived in Israel for close to 13 years, and had not been back to the East Coast to visit in four years, and so I was struck by the preponderance of water, trees and space. Whereas in Israel we watch every drop of water and have dual flush systems in our bathrooms, Americans seem to take water for granted both inside their homes and outside. There are brooks in the middle of lush parks, and trees with giant thick trunks and more park areas than I can count. For the first time in years, I take a ten minute shower and never run out of hot water. It feels extravagant to me, when in fact it is the American lifestyle.

I cannot complain, my apartment in Jerusalem is nice, I have enough room to work and play and it has a good feng shui. My parents' house looks modest from the outside, but has four floors and seven bedrooms, a proper salon and dining room, and a separate play room and basement. Not to mention an actual backyard rather than a sad little patch of grass. There is a sense of division of space, and privacy, and for all that I have chosen to sacrifice in living in Israel, I don't think I will ever give up on the dream of a house, even if it is not the size or scope of my parents.

Despite the law, most construction projects in Israel conveniently ignore the need to install handicap access ramps and make sidewalks safe and stroller friendly. In contrast, it is a pleasure to take Raphaela out in the stroller in my parents' neighborhood, the upkeep on the roads and walkways keep them smooth and comfortable, dare I say civilized.

I won't even begin the discussion on the difference of the level of customer service I have experienced.

One of my concerns about the length of this trip was that the longer I would stay, and the more I would reconnect with family and friends, the harder it would be to return to Israel. I want to raise my daughter in Israel, because it is much more representative of my value system as a person and as Jew; but it is hard to argue with the allure of the United States.

Then I remember that Barack Hussein Obama was elected President here. At least in Israel, our enemies don't wear the fancy suits and give charismatic speeches, we know exactly what they intend.

The Same Only Different

I start with the positive, saying that Raphaela remains a happy social child despite not having slept properly since Sunday morning, Jerusalem time. We braved the New England rain to go to shul today, just to get out of the house, and she loved all the attention she received when we walked into the room. ("Is this the baby? Good for you..." etc) Not having any responsibility tonight regarding a second seder, I bathed Raphaela at the regular time, read her book and put her to bed earlier than her usual (5 pm). Then I crawled into bed myself, and for the first time in three days got more than two hours of sleep at a time.

And for the first time in three days my milk came in, so I can finally feed my child in the manner to which she has become accustomed.

That's the good news. Unfortunately, I arrived with a series of expectations of free on the spot babysitting, and at this point, the stewardesses on the plane have spent more quality time with my daughter than her grandparents. I know that we arrived right before Pessach, and I know that everyone is tired for their own reasons, but the several times I have asked for help when I was literally collapsing I have been told that they too need to nap or have some other job that seems to take precedence. (My brother watched her for about an hour this morning, so I could attempt a nap, at least that.)

I can only be disappointed if I have expectations, and so I must rid myself of the idea very quickly. This morning I put Raphaela into her car seat and took her with me into the bathroom while I showered and dressed. I can be a single parent without assistance in Jerusalem too.

Arrived Safely

Out of the 25 hours that Raphaela and I were in transit, she slept for a total of two of them. Seriously. She charmed people on both sides of the pond, and was so overstimulated by the contact with new people, new experiences, the safety movie on the plane and the baggage collection track, among other things.

Top prize for wonderful random acts of kindness go to the teenager in London who tied my shoe laces for me, because I was bogged down by a child in a sling and three small carry ons. And my thanks to Lisa and Sarah and the rest of the BA crew on the flight from London to Boston, who treated my daughter like a VIP, baby sat for me and had Raphaela hang out with the captain so I could take a nap. (I always wanted a tour of the cockpit...)

In general, people were kind to us, and enjoyed Raphaela's company, remarking that she was a "delightfully quiet baby" on the flight. I wish I could take credit for her warm smile, but I have always maintained that she was born that way. Kudos to my daughter for perfecting her projectile peeing in the baby changing room in Heathrow.

I have also spent the last 25 hours nursing, and my chest is sore, and my milk supply is on jet lag.

Now I must do a laundry and fumigate everything that we wore in the past day, we smell like airport.

Filling the Freezer

Normally I prepare bottles in advance of the needs of the week, for the care taker; but with our trip less than 12 hours away, I have been pumping milk and for the first time since Raphaela is born, I can store breast milk for the future. It feels fulfilling to know that I have "extra" milk for her, that I am performing as Raphaela's mother.

I did the math and figured out that our total transit time is about 22 hours, from the time we leave my house in Jerusalem and the time we arrive at my parents' door step in Boston. I hope that my milk does not dry up because of fatigue or stress, and have packed some formula just in case we get stuck without breast milk for example in the middle of Heathrow, in our five hour layover.

Back to my last minute packing, I am probably taking much more than either of us will need or use while in America. I must account for New England weather, which changes on the hour and is supposedly cold for the season.

As much as I am looking forward to this trip, to Raphaela meeting her cousins, I will miss the atmosphere of Pessach in Israel, and I will miss the promise of Spring.

Free At Last

I danced a little jig yesterday, when my last Chiropractic client left the office, that feeling of freedom from the responsibility of work was overwhelming. Then I pushed the large equipment off to the side, and my office became the official packing room. At the moment I need to decide what to put inside the mere two suitcases we are allowed, and which carry-ons will be most useful during our five hour layover in Heathrow. G-d willing, the information on the web is correct and updated, and there should be no disruption of our flights.

Almost as soon as I closed shop, Michal called me and invited the baby and me to meet her family (Yael and Daniel) at the mall for a meal and some pre-Pessach shopping. Going to a mall in Israel three days before Pessach is like trying to find a parking spot at a mall in America before Christmas, but I eagerly accepted the offer. I have so little fun food in the house, and I will not stock up before we leave Sunday morning, and so dinner of a sorts appealed to my stomach.

The three adults and two babies sat at a restaurant with agonizingly slow service, but it was nice to catch up with them and show off our children. Daniel, born exactly one month before Raphaela, mostly slept while Raphaela could not sit still for a moment, so stimulated by the atmosphere of new people and music and the bustle of the mall. If her activity level yesterday is any indication, I will not sleep at all during the 22 hours that we are in transit...

We also braved the new H and M store, which opened in the space that used to be a nice movie theater, where I bought Raphaela a new dress for seder; I had been so pre-occupied planning outfits for her Simchat Bat after Pessach, that I almost forgot about the holiday itself.

On the way home, we stopped by her care taker, so Raphaela could play a little and more importantly, so she could get her nails cut. Ever since the trauma of watching her cry and bleed, I am afraid to go near her hands with a child's scissors.

Finally home, later that I usually put Raphaela to sleep, and once she was tucked in bed I tried to make sense of all the small and yet important errands that I must complete within the next 36 hours.

Ah, vacation!

Harry Lives! (For Now...)

Tonight the vet could not believe the miraculous recovery she observed in Harry, and now, about 1500 NIS later, I must be meticulous in terms of his eating habits, for the rest of his life. Other than that wrinkle, Harry has indeed returned to himself, and it gives me a great sense of relief and joy. I have no regrets regarding the money spent, he is a member of my family.

Until I think about the warning from the vet, that the stress of being "jailed" indoors for the next three weeks could cause a relapse. I don't even want to think about the effect of construction and drilling on a home bound Harry, should it resume.

Upon careful consideration, I instructed the doctor and will also instruct the cat sitter that there are to be no extreme measures taken to keep him alive if he crashes while I am visiting in the United States. I will enjoy the next four days with the new and improved Harry, and say a silent good-bye when we leave for the airport; and hope that it remains a "See you later" rather than a final farewell.

My neighbor and friend, Savta Naomi, watched Raphaela so I could focus on Harry during the veterinarian visit, and when I picked her up, my daughter was verbal and happy, and even tried to wave good-bye to Savta Naomi as we returned home.

I feel a sense of wonderment that Raphaela Rivka, who was once an idea and a dream, will turn six months old on Friday. I can't wait for her to meet her extended family, and I personally need a vacation from my work and from Israel, as I have not gone overseas or seen my siblings in close to four years.

Now if this streak of good news continues, British Air will resolve all their union issues before Shabbat.

Distraction Leads to Mistakes

With four days before we (may) leave for America (depending upon whether BA will strike this weekend), with the baby in the house while I work, I got distracted. I made a bottle for her and only afterwards did I realize that the ratio of formula to water was double what it should have been.

Thinking I had somehow poisoned Raphaela, I called her pediatrician and was assured that I had not harmed her in any real way, except that she might be constipated and a bit colicky the next few days. I have already started giving her lots of extra water, and I am hoping that the hydration helps avoid a travel disaster.

Meanwhile, Harry has his most important vet appointment tomorrow night, the one that will determine his fate, literally.