Dr Jeckyll and Little Miss Hyde

Even as a baby, Raphaela always seemed to know that Friday was somehow different;  different schedule and special events on Shabbat, and she would behave (badly) accordingly.

Today after I picked her up from Gan, Raphaela was in a stellar mood, and in fact one of the most lovely children I have ever seen. She saved me a cookie from her Gan Shabbat party, and also got me a sticker, saying, "I love you so much Mommy and I love to give you Shabbat presents."

I wanted to pick her up in my arms and hug her as tight as I could, and thank the stars that I had the most generous and sweet little girl.

Then we walked to Palmach to do errands and her entire demeanor changed.  She became uncooperative to the point of throwing a tantrum, throwing her back pack on the side walk and making a general spectacle of herself.

Gritting my teeth and painting on a smile that said, "Sure, judge me for being a lousy mother. Just wait until you have a four year old, " we walked home; or rather I dragged her home as she cried for no apparent reason.

When I asked Raphaela why she was crying, she answered me all Exorcist style, in a perfectly clear and scarily rational voice, "Raphaela's not here right now, she has disappeared inside Baby Unicorn [her normally well-behaved alter ego].  Baby Unicorn  who wants to cry very loudly for no reason."

She then resumed crying and as we got close to the house, her perfectly rational/terrifying possessed voice said, "Baby Unicorn is very tired and will take a nap when we get home."

The Makeup Game

Walking home from Gan today, Raphaela told me that she and some of her friends were talking about makeup, and applying  it as part of a pretend game.  Raphaela also informed me that one of them is not allowed to have makeup, because she is "too young."  (All of three and a half, as opposed to the rest of them who were all grown up at four.)

I don't remember thinking about makeup until high school, maybe, and perhaps I am more old-fashioned than I wish to admit, but it feels very early to have this conversation.

Walking to Gan this morning, small puddles of water and islands of ice remain on the street.  We passed by one particularly impressive pool of water and Raphaela, who usually grabs the opportunity, refused to jump and splash.

"Mommy, that a deep puddle." she said.  "Maybe it has worms inside, or piranhas, or jelly fish!"

Man in the House

My (newly engaged) youngest brother came to Israel for the last three weeks on a business trip.  We have always been very close despite the age difference, and though he spent the work weeks in Tel Aviv, he came to us in Jerusalem for the Shabbat weekends.

Raphaela connected to him immediately, and now that he has neared the end of his stay with us, I realize that my daughter learned certain things for the first time in her life, having a non-girl human being live with us.

At first, when my brother would expect privacy while on the toilet or while getting dressed, Raphaela became distressed and took the closed door as a personal insult.  I explained to her that just because she follows me everywhere (shower, bathroom, supermarket, garbage runs, nap time) does not mean that other people enjoy the same level of intimacy.  Trying to teach her the value of respecting other's wishes, I pointed out that if her uncle did not want her watching, he had every right, and she must wait with patience until he comes out of the guest room.

She gets it now, at least for people other than Mommy.

Then, this morning, she observed my brother placing Tefillin (phylacteries) while he prayed and seemed intrigued.  It hit me that she had never seen them before, and the three of us - my brother and I and Raphaela - had a lengthy discussion about Tefillin, what they represent and who wears them.  I explained that although I know certain very dedicated women who wear Tefillin on a regular basis, the practice is reserved mostly for Orthodox boys and men, over the age of 13.  Raphaela then made sure that she could still pray as she always does in Gan, and I reassured her that G-d listens to us wherever we are, whether it be synagogue or with Tefillin in the morning, or at home. 

She asked me if I pray on a regular basis, and I told her that I talk to G-d all day, throughout the day;  when I am working I ask G-d to help heal my patients, when I am driving I ask G-d to help me find a decent parking spot, and when I watch her sleep at night I ask G-d to keep Raphaela safe and healthy and happy.

Perhaps the most important lesson of my brother's visit is this:  Raphaela became so attached so quickly to my brother, and exhibited so much curiosity about the ways of men.  She could not stop talking to him at home, and about him in school, and was overjoyed when he took her to Gan one morning.  When I start dating, not just having fun but when it becomes serious with possible signs of long-term commitment, I will  be very careful as to when Raphaela meets this man who could become a new and key element of our lives.  For her sake, I cannot bring someone into the house, watch her connect and have him disappear.

Gilligan's Island PTSD

This morning, half awake and half asleep, I turned over in bed to check the time, and noticed that my digital alarm clock was dead.  I immediately shot up and said, "S**t!  Another electrical shortage, I thought this was all behind us! I can't take this anymore..."

Then I grabbed my flashlight - which has sat next to my bed since the storm - and started roaming around the house, seeing if any other lights worked, it was pitch dark.  I went over to the electrical box and shut down the whole system and implemented a restart.

Went back to my bedroom only to realize that my alarm clock had been somehow unplugged, and that house was functioning properly.  There I was, wide awake at five am.

Snow Man RIP

Raphaela has brought home a lovely new phrase from Gan, "I am so hungry, if you don't give me food soon, I will die!" (And other similarly themed statements.)

Funny thing is, she has no real concept of Death.  We saw a dead cat on the road, run over by a car and squashed flat, and Raphaela said, "Mommy, that cat is broken.  You are a doctor, you can fix it."

Our recent snow experience seems to have brought home the concept, at least slightly.  Someone had built a snow man at the intersection above our street;  the snow man standing there as if he was waiting for the light to turn green.  When we first saw him he was tall and proud, and as the days have gotten warmer, he has melted into nothing but a small blob of dirty ice on the sidewalk.

This morning, Raphaela noticed this change and said, "Mommy, our snow man is getting smaller and smaller." I explained to her the concept of melting, and then added that soon the snow man will disappear, be no more than a memory from the storm.  After a moment of silence for his decline in health, we continued walking to Gan.

Gilligan's Island, Day Seven

With Gan back in the routine, and the water and electricity staying stable so far (pthoo pthoo pthoo), and with no scheduled patients, I took the day to catch up on our home life.  Truth be told, I was supposed to attend a Chiropractic conference in Tel Aviv today, but the car is still a little stuck in ice, and the Jerusalem roads are far from safe.

I went to the bank and supermarket, so now we have actual healthy food to cook and eat.  I bought more litter sand from the pet store, because Harry has been inside with us for the last week;  he suffers from depression when he gets stuck in the house for too long.  Several desperate loads of laundry will need  to be folded at some point today.

While getting dressed this morning, I found a set of silk undershirts, perfect for this weather, some of them still in their original packaging.  I smiled, remembering that these had arrived at my grandparent's house for my grandmother, during her shiva.  One of my aunts told me that I should take them back to Israel, that they will keep me warm someday, "She doesn't need silk undershirts anymore," they said.

All these years later, and my grandmother is still taking care of me.