Still here

Just busy.

Pesach came and went, and it was good, and then the boys had their birthdays, and then I had mine, and soon Mr. Bigfoot will have his. We're still figuring out next year, in terms of work, the kids' schools, and so on. We're planning to stay in the same apartment, and are buying some furniture off the people who are leaving to make things a little more homey. I also bought Avtalyon a toddler bed and Marika a crib, to replace the mattress on the floor and pack and play that they'd been sleeping in, respectively. Avtalyon was delighted with his new acquisition; Marika, not so much.

Lots has been going on but I've just been too busy and too tired to sit down and tell you about it. Marika's thing these days is singing "dayeinu" (dai dai dee dee!) and "avadim hayyinu" (ah ba dee-eee!) at the least provocation. Avtalyon has gotten really verbal and really entertaining; he'll inform me very solemnly, with those huge dark eyes of his, that dinosaurs "eat their friends. That's not very nice." He still loves band-aids. He still calls cucumber "hinkumbers," but that might be because we all now do it too. He loves matzo balls and goes berserk at the slightest sign that they might be in the offing; like, the soup pot goes on the hotplate and he is immediately circling me for matzo balls even though it will obviously be hours before any are available.

Iyyar goes back and forth between being sweet and charming and the cause for my fingernails being ground into stubs. Today I was putting some things into the trunk of a neighbor's car--they have a kid at the same gan and while they don't have room in the car to drive us home, they don't mind if I put my shopping in the back. I looked up and suddenly realized that Iyyar was unlocking the brake on Marika's stroller. Which she was in. On the top of a huge, huge Jerusalem hill. I dropped everything, dived on him and screamed, right as the stroller began to roll. What was he thinking? He wasn't. Was Barak like this at this age? I don't remember but I really don't think so. It makes me nervous. I know he wouldn't really hurt her on purpose, but there's this oblivious side to him that's kind of alarming sometimes. He seems happier about school, although he still complains that nobody plays with him; separate interviews with all three ganenot gave an absolute rebuttal. He plays nicely, he has friends; the only problem is that he jumps around and gets silly when he's supposed to be paying attention in circle time. OK, fine. He just turned five; this is not so unreasonable. He still wants to sleep in his heavy polarfleece pajamas even though it is now really warm at night; he wakes up sweaty with his payes stuck to his face. I think those pajames might have to go into hibernation pretty soon.

Barak, after months and months of talking about planting things, finally got his wishes fulfilled in the form of two window boxes which now contain a basil plant, a bunch of tiny tomato plants, and one brave bean plant that just showed up yesterday and is already two inches tall. There are also pepper seeds in there, but those haven't come up yet. They're in an intensely sunny window and we water them faithfully, copiously and enthusiastically; we'll see what will be.

I took a week of vacation, just to recover from the general exhaustion of the last few months. It hasn't really helped. I didn't get nearly as much done as I wanted to and I still didn't sleep much; too much on my mind and I can't relax. The kids were on edge this week and I had a hard time with that; maybe it's the change in weather. Maybe it's me.

Anyway, off to knit. No better relaxation than that! The apartment is actually quite clean and surprisingly well organized, a product of my vacation time; I haven't done anything for Shabbos, but it starts so late now that's not a problem.

Oof!

Holy cats! Three weeks since I posted?!

Um... sorry about that?

What can I say? Pesach. Also, pre-Pesach stomach flu, for everyone but Abba. I was sick in bed for a couple of days and really under the weather for another four; every single kid had a fever + diarrhea/vomiting/general ick. Pesach did get made, and so far has been going fine; we had 17 (!) people for the seder, which was fun. Iyyar made it to midnight, Barak made it all the way to nirtzah, at 2 am. Yes, they were all up at 7 am as though nothing had happened. Why can't I do that?!

Various other things are afoot. My husband, who I have decided to rename, for purposes of this blog, Mr. Bigfoot*, is trying to find a job for next year. As a backup, he's also starting the process to get certified as an English teacher, which requires vast amounts of hoop-jumping, beginning with getting every transcript/degree he's ever gotten in his life certified by the Israeli government. Fun fun! If you, or anyone you know, or anyone you've ever met, has a job for my husband, please let me know. Thanks.

Work has been crazy busy. This is good, but also stressful. I think I'll be back in the States for work the last week of June. Not sure yet, but that's how it's looking.

Marika is being adorable. Newest thing: elaborate "I dunno!" shrugs, complete with upturned palms and head inclined at an angle that would send me running for physical therapy. Also, she is enjoying putting her own diapers in the garbage can. When she does, she looks at you expectantly, at which point you, of course, applaud.

Avtalyon torments Marika at every opportunity, steals her toys, blocks her passage everywhere, and has to be watched like a hawk lest he close a door on her hands. Iyyar is settling down somewhat; Pesach break agrees with him, as does all the soy-free meat at this time of year. Barak is also being really cute, and erev Shabbos, when I was rushing around like a madwoman because we were going to have 4 yeshiva guys for dinner and I was running late, he heard Marika crying for attention in the pack-and-play in which she had been unceremoniously deposited for safekeeping. "Imma, do you want me to make Marika happy?" "Yes! Yes PLEASE Barak!" And he did, playing a wild game of peek-a-boo on three sides of the crib. They were both absolutely shrieking with laughter. Good times.

OK. Time to clean up from Shabbos. Hoping for a zoo trip tomorrow. Moadim l'simcha, everyone.

*A few months ago, Alisha brought back some things from the States for us. Because she lives here, not there, said things were bought by me online and sent to her mother's NYC apartment during Alisha's visit there. As anyone who's ever lived in an NYC apartment knows, extra storage space is generally at a premium, and Alisha's mother was extremely nice to permit my random boxes to pile up in her home when, you know, she's never even met me. One of the items was a box containing shoes for my husband, in size Ridiculously Huge, which I discovered too late are not only hard to find here but absurdly expensive (NIS 800! And not even such great quality). Anyway, I finally emailed Alisha's mom to say thank you, and she graciously said it wasn't a big deal (which I suspect wasn't true) and that she hoped one day to meet me, my kids, and Mr. Bigfoot.

I howled. Because he IS. His feet are HUGE and I trip over his shoes regularly. So forget the heilige husband acronym. From now on, he'll always be Mr. Bigfoot to me. :)

Also

What is up with the line spaces? More specifically, what is up with the lack of line spaces? There were none in my last post, despite my trying every which way (even using the space bar! the tab key! no dice!) to get them in there.

Will this post have spaces? Only Blogger knows for sure.

This past week? Not fun.

After my post of grim determination on Perspective:

a) I spent the night in the hospital with Avtalyon. Barak had his mesibat chumash (in Hevron! the mind reels) and when I came back Abba said in passing that he'd bonked his head on the radiator. Head-bonking happens so often around here that this barely registered. When I was talking to Persephone later ont he phone, and he woke up screaming, I thought, oh, he got soy at dinner and his stomach hurts. Then I looked again at all the writhing and screaming and thought, huh. That's some stomachache. "Avtalyon, where does it hurt?" "Here!" he wailed, holding his head.

Ohh. Ear infection. That's weird, we were just at the ENT yesterday and he didn't say anything about his ears. And he was SO upset. I took him out of his room and sat with him on the couch in the living room, hoping he'd calm down, but no. Went to get Tylenol and oh I think he's going to throw up ewwww he threw up all over me and "MY HEAD HURTS!"

Dingdingdingdingding

"Could you go grab the carseat and call me a cab to Shaarei Tzedek?"

So we spent the night in Shaarei Tzedek, and it was in some ways impressive and in others way Not Impressive At All, and in the end he is probably IY"H fine and it was a concussion. No energy to blog the rest of the experience; maybe later.

b) Then! Iyyar woke up warm. Then he was hot. Then I checked his underarm temp and it was 103.3 (meaning it was really over 104, for those keeping score at home.) Then the diarrhea started. He went through ALL his underwear and started going through Barak's before I could get his washed. All together now: eww. He was home Thursday and Friday.

c) Other Unbloggable Stuff that was Very Very Gross and Annoying. Also, EARLY. and LONG. I miss being pregnant. TMI yet? Sorry.

Hey, I have line spaces! Awesome.

OK, one more whine.

The fridge.

Our fridge stinks. Figuratively, not literally. Stuff on the door does not stay cold, and anything in the back of the fridge freezes. Since this is a 3/4 sized fridge, that doesn't leave a lot of room. I've put in endless forms about this, and the maintenance guys, who are extremely nice but have no budget, have attempted to fix it, replaced it with another equally semifunctional fridge, taken it away, returned it, and, most recently, brought in a THIRD semifunctional fridge which, while now very very clean (thank you Rami Levy and your knockoff Magic Erasers!) also freezes my cucumbers.

And guess what?

PESACH IS COMING.

I have an electric burner and a fridge that only kinda works. Two feet of counter space, a tiny freezer and a plastic Keter closet.

I do at least have two brand-new toaster ovens, one of which is a Black and Decker 220 I brought back with me from the states.

Still. This is going to be interesting. I think it'll be OK, in the end, but... yeah.

OK. Off to make havdalah. Stay tuned, as always, to this exciting channel of only seemingly endless whining.

זה היום עשה השם

Back when I only had Barak, someone posted a comment asking me if he was always hilarious and adorable or if I only posted the good parts. I said that yes he was always hilarious and adorable, and yes I only posted the good parts.

I mostly do only post the good parts, about everything. I do whine on this blog, but I try to keep it to a minimum. (I should probably try a little harder on that front.) I don’t really use it as a place to air angst or misery or painful things in general. I’m not that kind of a blogger. I have nothing against those blogs—I read a few of them avidly, much to my husband’s chagrin—but that’s not generally what this blog is for, for me. It’s about the kids, my life, a chronicle of what our days are like, something for the kids to enjoy later, I hope. It’s not quite The Good Parts Version, but it’s not the Dark Cobwebs from the Dungeon Version, either.

This week was hard. Hard things happened this week, to other people, and I was powerless to help; much more minor things happened to me that I should have had better perspective about than I did. Iyyar and Avtalyon were both sick and now Marika is looking under the weather; it was Purim, which is always a challenge. Put together, it was hard to stay on an even keel.

Last night it all came to a head. I came home and my husband and I talked until almost 5 in the morning. I had to get up at 6:30, but somehow, it was okay.

Today I feel better. Today I feel lighter. Today I am looking at my family and loving and enjoying them, and trying hard to not try to be in charge, and to embrace the transience of everything, and the uncertainty and the lack of control we all have.

This is the world.

This is how it is.

This is how God made it, and that means that this is how it has to be. That doesn’t mean we have to like it. We don’t understand it. We can’t understand it. And just like a kid can rage at his father for strapping him down in a carseat when he doesn’t want to be in it, just like a baby can feel betrayed by the mother who holds him down to get a shot at the doctor’s, we can feel rage and feel hurt and be bewildered by how cruel and arbitrary it all seems to us, so much of the time, so much more so these days. We don’t have to like it. We don’t have to understand it. But we have to accept that somehow, in a way beyond us, it is right.

זה היום עשה השם

This is the day the Lord hath made. I can't always rejoice and be glad in it. But I have to try.

Keeping the ball rolling

Don't want you to give up on me again, after all!

A few people have asked about the origin of the kids' names. First off, you should know that they're all made up. I don't use any real names on this blog, except for when they're really common first names, and also except for the name of my erstwhile cat. My kids' actual names are a little odd in America but pretty normal here. If you want the full story on their blog names, you can go back to the blog entries around when they were born (May 2006, January 2008, and November 2009). But the short versions:

Barak: He was born before I started the blog. I started this blog in spring of 2005, when he had suddenly gotten very mobile very quickly. "Barak" means "lightning" in Hebrew, so it seemed appropriate.

Iyyar: He was born in the Hebrew month of Iyyar. I wasn't feeling very creative, I guess.

Avtalyon: My husband was bucking for this as his real name. I put my foot down. The compromise, which wasn't much of a compromise really, was that we used it as a blog name.

Marika: She is named after my Hungarian grandmother, whose nickname was actually Mariska, which she hated. She wanted to be called Marika instead. So that's what I use here.

What else is news around here? Well, it's Purim soon. No! Not on Sunday! On Monday, because in Jerusalem we celebrate Shushan Purim (it's a walled city!) What's actually been occupying most of my headspace this week, though, has been Iyyar, who's been really, really difficult lately, and has been seeming, well, just really stressed. I don't know if I can put my finger on when things started getting so hard with him, but I'm thinking it was around my trip to the US. But it seems like it's been getting worse, not better. He came home from school last week with his sleeves and kippa all chewed, and the next day I went to talk to his ganenet (teacher) to see what was going on. I didn't get much out of her, so I asked a Hebrew-speaking neighbor and fellow parent to try again. She didn't hear anything from the ganenet about what might be bothering Iyyar, but got an earful about how Iyyar was bothering her/the other kids. He doesn't sit still, he throws toys, he runs around, he doesn't listen, when you tell him he's done something wrong he grins at you.

I'm sure she's not making it up, but I'm also sure that she's not the kind of person who would never have said anything about it until directly asked in March if there were any problems. Also, I've asked regularly how it's coming, and the only answers I get are regarding his Hebrew progress--uniformly positive. This is all stuff he does at home at his worst, but it's not all the time. My theory? He's been causing a little trouble all year, this month has been bad, and now that she's fed up she's retroactively annoyed at him for all the annoyance he's caused since September. And also, unfortunately, since he's acting up the other kids don't want to play with him, which upsets him and so he acts up more and... yeah. Not a good cycle.

Iyyar is a little out of step with the other kids. This is not news. Yehudis noticed it when he was two, and although his last year's teacher did not, she was not particularly perceptive. Yesterday when my husband went to Iyyar's Purim party (I was at the doctor with Avtalyon, who came down with strep, again, on Thursday) he came back saying that Iyyar hadn't participated at all, hadn't done anything the other kids were doing. But in October, when I went to a similar mesiba, he did everything he was supposed to do. So I don't know. Do I think he has any massive developmental issues? No. He did talk late and he is a little spacey, but he manages OK at home, he plays with other kids, he's learning his letters, he can sit through stories, etc. My husband says he's like he used to be as a kid--just kinda out to lunch. And disorganized. And prone to fantasy. And not really all that attuned to what's going on around him

I took him out of school on Wednesday and we went out for falafel; the point was some Imma time but it really didn't go so well. He didn't listen to me, he did this incredibly annoying thing where you're trying to talk to him and he pointedly looks elsewhere, he deliberately wandered off when I asked him to stay close to me. He's also been really, um, sketchy in the matter of truth-telling lately. And bedtimes. And staying calm--he's been falling about screaming at the least little thing.

Yeah. Just generally difficult. Like I said it's hard to pinpoint when this all started, but I am sure he hasn't always been like this. Hopefully, it's related to my having been away, and it'll pass. Right? Right?

He's so cute and sweet when he's not driving me crazy. I wish I knew what to do. I think he needs more one-on-one time, more attention, more talking time. That's usually the answer. It's hard though--I make a point to walk him home, and he doesn't listen and runs off. Or argues, or kvetches for something. And then I end up yelling at him (not at volume, but sternly) and how did that help?

He did a great job cleaning up with me tonight though. We picked up all the toys in the living room together. I feel bad complaining about him--did I mention how cute and sweet he can be? It's just been a bit... difficult lately.

Part five in the increasingly inaccurately named...

Only the Hitchhikers among us will know what the title is about, but that's OK.

I thought of two more things on my aliya list. And since 18 is a good number, and 16 is meh, here are two more:

17. Sickies. How could I have forgotten this one? I admit I had heard about the "cholim chadashim" syndrome, and had definitely registered other people saying "you and your kids will be sick a lot the first year." So maybe it should not have come entirely as a surprise when we went nearly six months with at least someone, and often more than one someone, sick every. single. week. As in, home from school sick. Avtalyon has had four eardrum ruptures since we've been here. (Yes, he is now down for tubes, but the approval and scheduling take time.) There have been too many colds to count, along with stomach viruses, strep, an attack of mystery insects that Iyyar's ganenet was convinced was chicken pox, an infected hand, a MRSA-infected infected foot, more stomach viruses, pinworms, lice, boils, frogs, and... oh you get the picture. Lots of sick. LOTS. For some reason, this caught me off guard.

I think we may have gotten hit unusually hard because of having three boys in three different schools/ganim; lots of bugs to pick up and pass around. Also, the rain came late this year and I'm told that wreaked a lot of health havoc on its own. Still. You have been warned. It won't necessarily happen to you, and I hope it won't, but it might.

18. And last! (For now anyway.) There are many ways in which making aliya is like mothering a child. For example, you can't do it perfectly, you will lie awake nights worrying that you're doing it wrong, and somehow, everyone you meet knows how you're doing it wrong and will tell you so. For example, I have lost count of the people who have told me that I MUST DO ULPAN RIGHT NOW. Five hours a day, five days a week, for five months. Must! Or our klita is doomed! No time, you say? Well you must MAKE the time! (That is a direct quote. As if I have not been daydreaming for years about magically finding another seven hours in every day, the way people in Manhattan dream about finding whole extra rooms in their apartments.)

Barak's rebbe? He wants us to only speak Hebrew at home. (He is serious.) I've been told by other mothers that my insistence that my child ride in a booster seat is ridiculous, and I should let him take the bus to school by himself. Aged six. Crossing an intersection that is eight lanes of traffic crossing six lanes of traffic, with several islands and a light rail line in the middle. I've been told that we must buy a car, no matter what, and not to do so is an act of irresponsible parenting. I could go on and on and on. I won't.

What it boils down to is the same thing I tell myself as a mother. Nobody else knows my situation like I do. Nobody else knows my children like I do. I can and should listen politely to other people, because maybe they'll tell me something I don't know. Maybe it'll be useful. Maybe not. Ultimately, you take the advice that works for you and leave what doesn't. So I hope some of this whole long screed will come in handy for you, and if it doesn't--well, feel free to ignore. : )

איזה היא עשירה

A few years ago, Grandma E came to visit us in Chicago. She's been a few times (she's kind of like the Godfather that way--she keeps saying she's done and then we keep dragging her back) so I don't remember which visit, but I think it was when Barak was two or three and we had the first whiff of the job insecurity that was going to be the recurring theme of the next, well, the rest of our lives, to date anyway. We were in the kitchen and I was making noodles and I'd made some homemade pesto to go with it. I was grating cheese and she saw me grate a little pile of parmesan and a bigger pile of muenster (or whatever it was) and sprinkle the mixture on everyone's noodles.

"Why are you using the muenster?" she asked.

"Because the parmesan is expensive cheese and I'm stretching it with cheap cheese," I told her, and she nodded.

My husband came in and we had dinner and I just remember it being a lot of fun with a lot of laughing. Later on when he'd left the room, she said, "Well, you two won't ever be the richest people in the world, but you might just be the happiest."

It was one the nicest things I've ever heard and it's one of those things I sort of pull out when I'm having a week like this one.

Money is just money. Yes you need it. Yes you need enough. But "enough" is subjective.

We have a place to live, food to eat, clothes to wear. There is money in the bank. Not endless amounts, but not nothing, and enough that the wolf is not actively howling at the door. I have a job. And IY"H, somehow or other, my husband will, eventually, get one too.

Did you see in the news earlier this week about the Chinese-Jewish guy in Honolulu who was determined by Gallup to be a composite of the world's happiest person? This was part of a three-year (I think) attempt to determine who's happy. I don't think there is any objective criteria for what makes you happy. It's too complicated, and I think everyone knows that declaring Alvin Wong as the world's happiest man is a little tongue-in-cheek. But I can tell you one thing that is absolutely fatal to happiness, and that is comparing yourself to other people.

It was hard, back in America, to look at my friends and their houses. With, you know, basements. And closets. And kitchens. And those were my kollel friends, who are not exactly wealthy. But a carpeted basement playroom! That seems like such unimaginable luxury right now.

But last week we had our eighth anniversary, and Hadassah the Amazing babysat for us. (Did I tell you she cleaned my kitchen while we were out? I did? Well, let me tell you again. She cleaned my kitchen when we were out!) And even though we ended up taking the bus to go get pizza, it was so much fun, and we really enjoyed it. And when we came back, she opened the door before we knocked, and she said, "I knew it was you because I heard you laughing."

It's all OK.

I'm not saying it's not hard. It is hard. I do too much. I sleep too little. I worry a lot. I don't know what's going to happen next. But right now, I am just where I want to be.

What we're up to

The kid-by-kid update:

Barak seems to be doing OK these days. He is happy to go to school in the morning and generally in a good mood, if tired and prone to meltdown, when he gets home. Homework continues to be an Issue. He spends 8 hours a day in a Hebrew environment and by the time he gets home at 4:30 PM, he wants nothing but a quiet corner and a box of Lego. Homework? Surely you jest. I had been letting him get away with it for a while but his teachers (his regular classroom teacher and Morah Penina, his lovely 80-year-old tutor) both called me a couple of weeks ago saying, look, he's not making progress and you need to be reinforcing this at home. So since then I've been trying, but it's so not pleasant and such a struggle. He's six and a half. It's too much for him. But they're also right in that if he doesn't pick up Hebrew by the end of the year, kita beit is going to be really hard.

He's being really good with Marika lately. Just a really sweet big brother. Yesterday we were out on the playground and he was giving her turns down the slide; he sat on top, I put Marika in his lap, he held her and slid down with her. She LOVED this. I wish I'd had a camera. She wanted to do it again and again and again and...

Iyyar is also getting good reports from his moros, who say that he's playing nicely and picking up Hebrew well. He seems to understand everything you say to him in Hebrew--I can give him running directions in Hebrew and he follows them. One thing I want to mention about him though is how much better his face looks. Last year, almost the whole year, his face was puffy. He almost looked like he was on steroids. He wasn't sick, it was just some kind of a reaction to something. I don't remember specifically when it stopped looking like that but I was just thinking the other day how thin his face looked, in a good way. No more puff. I don't know what it was but I assume he was allergic to something that's not in his environment anymore. Who knows what?

Last Shabbos Iyyar and Avtalyon made a huge mess dumping out all the toys in their room, right after it was all cleaned up for Shabbos. I told them they had to pick up before they could have seudat shlishit. By "pick up" I meant a minimal standard of "Lego in Lego box, laundry in basket, rest of toys in toy basket." No sorting or putting away of things in right places, just dump it in the basket. They ignored me and wouldn't do it. I offered to help and started doing it with them and they still ignored me, so I said, OK, you're on your own, come out when it's done.

Five hours. They were in their room for five hours. Eventually, they got hungry and they did it. This is I think the third time in two weeks that we've done this. One of these days they will get a clue and just do it in the beginning when I am there offering to help. Right? Right? Right?

I pick Iyyar up from school twice a week and we talk the whole way home. His brain is really all over the place; we start talking about one thing and then he's asking me about something else. I think Barak had more of an attention span at that age--actually I'm sure he did. Not that I'm worried about this, it's more of a personality thing; Barak FOCUSES, where Iyyar is more prone to flying around all over. Also in the "sweet brother" category, he's been saving pieces of treats for Barak and Avtalyon--yesterday he got a chocolate vaffel (like wafers) at school and broke off pieces for both of them and put them in plastic bags in the kitchen to save them. Big pieces, too. Totally unprompted by me. So sweet.

Avtalyon is being really, really cute. His big thing these days is that he hates being wet. If he spills a tiny little bit of something on his shirt, that's it, ALL his clothes come off and he's naked until I make him get dressed. But he wants new, all-dry, uncontaminated by proximity to water clothing. Sometimes I let him, sometimes not, depending on what the previous outfit looked like.

He's also all about the dramatic hand gestures. He likes posing for the camera, scary action poses and so on.

When I came back from the US I brought the box of Clics from the basement. I also brought a new bike helmet, because I couldn't find the one we had already and the kids have been zooming around down the hill on their little ride-on car in a way that makes me nervous. What do these two things have to do with each other? Well, there must be some genetically programmed desire in my children to make train tracks out of Clics while naked except for underwear and a bike helmet, because so far they've all done it. Barak did it, Iyyar did it, and Avtalyon has not seen any older brothers do it within memory but two days after I got back, he was doing it too. Go figure.

On days when I pick Avtalyon up from gan (Abba and I switch off--it's a complicated schedule) we have this whole obstacle course that we have to go through to get home. There are low walls to walk on, ramps to run up and down, and of course the Alligator/Elevator we have to ride. It's an outdoor glass elevator that goes up to the sixth floor; he pushes the button, we go in, we ride to the top, come out, admire the view, go back down. More low walls, the cat by the schwarma stand to find and comment on, and then the revolving metal security door to ride. Yes, ride: he climbs on the lowest bar and I turn it for him. Fun fun.

And Marika has suddenly become a toddler. She's walking instead of crawling as her primary means of locomotion and is getting close to being too big for the Snugli. She has had for months a habit of reaching her non-sucking-thumb-hand down under my sweater when she's ready to fall asleep, to grab a nice soft handful of t-shirt. Lately it's been warmer and I haven't been wearing sweaters, so she's been reaching into my shirt and grabbing, you know, what's there. This is a little awkward while in public and she may soon be graduating to a stroller as a result.

Yesterday we went to Geula with a friend on a skirt-shopping expedition. It was really fun. I bargained hard and got four skirts for NIS 360, about $100 these days; we also stopped at Moshiko for falafel. I brought the stroller for her and it did make it easier; I could try stuff on, she fell asleep, I could eat. But it's such a pain to bring a stroller on the bus, even though people do usually help. I just don't have enough hands to hold her, hold the stroller, and hang on when the bus starts moving before I find a seat (which it always does).

Favorite word these days: "yeah!" If you ask her a question, any question, with a yes/no intonation, she'll say, "yeah!" with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Also, I've heard her say, almost distinctly, "What is that?" ("Wah dee dah?") and "I want it!" Right now she is playing in the pack and play next to me saying, "Ah dee dee! Ah why? Why? Whee ditch. Ah de det'." Palatalized consonants continue to abound. "At'. At'. At'." And if you prompt her, she will say thank you, very seriously. "Ta tuh."

The jet lag was awful but she seems totally over it now. Oh, I didn't mention: yesterday on our shopping trip I bought her a toy stroller for the princely sum of NIS 20. It's a nice one too, with a metal frame, and just her size. She loves it. The boys put Grover in there for her and she pushed him around the house for a while; then later in the afternoon my SIL came over. I had brought her back some dental floss from America (long story, but it's one of those things that's much cheaper there) and Marika demanded to hold them; two minutes later they were of course gone. We hunted for a while with no luck until with a flash of inspiration I looked under Grover's tush. She had, naturally, stashed them there, because what is a stroller for if not to give your dental floss a tour of the apartment under a Muppet's rear end?

Anyway, that's the news from around here.

Hey, have you noticed I've been blogging more? Hmm? You have? Well, I've noticed that yesterday, 38 distinct visitors came and read this. But nobody but Jasmin does much commenting. So maybe you could, you know, say hi. Because if I'm going to go back to blogging more often, it's much more fun if you wave back. OK?

Insomnia

I can't sleep.

So much on my mind, so much of it unbloggable.

We came here knowing we'd be here for a year, anticipating the possibility of two, and having no plans after that. It was OK at the beginning because a year is a long time and we had a Plan B for year 2. But now we're at a point where it's looking very likely that we'll be here for a second year. Okay, good, fine, we knew that might happen. What is freaking me out is a) not knowing if I, personally, will have a job post August and b) seeing all the people here making plans NOW for what they'll be doing post August. If we stay for a second year, we will at this point next year, be in the same job-seach position, and without backup plans, and that is Scary.

What would make me able to sleep a little better would be some kind of an assurance from my boss that I can keep doing this for another year. The knowledge that at least we will not both be unemployed would help a lot. But until we know what we're doing, it's probably best not to even broach the subject. So far as I know, no one's complained, and that's the important thing. It does, however, make me a little bit insane when it comes to work--I am so paranoid that someone will complain about me (even though, to my knowledge, no one has done this in the last six and a half years) that I am bending over backwards when it isn't even called for and thereby getting even less sleep.

So tired.

Going to try to sleep again now. Wish me luck.

Lessons learned, part 4 of 4 (so far)

13. Keep your eyes on the prize. Whatever it is about aliya that made you want to be here, remember it. Write it down. Everyone has their breakdown moment, or two, or fifty. You’ll get yelled at in the store one time too many, or your kid will lose his hasaa again, or you’ll have no idea what all those piece of paper you just signed in the bank were. Take the piece of paper out, listen to the Eitan Katz CD, watch that Come Back video one more time.

14. Jet lag with children: Two weeks. Seriously. I’m sorry, but this is true.

15. Think way ahead of time about how much luggage you’ll have with you (100-170 lb per person, plus car seats/strollers) and how you will get everything to the airport. A friend with a minivan will not do it. Two friends with minivans will also not do it. We needed a friend with a minivan and another friend with a U-Haul.

16. Try really hard to maintain your sense of humor and not take things out on your spouse/kids. My husband wasn’t around for any of the pre-aliya planning because he was simply not home; he worked every day including Sundays and was out of the house from 8 am till 10 pm most weekdays. He brought things to work to scan/copy/email, but that was it. He did not deal with any of the logistics, packing, planning, hauling, loading, etc. because he really couldn’t. So when a week in it transpired that he did not know the difference between Misrad Haklita, Misrad Hapanim, and Bituach Leumi, I should not have blown up at him.

I'm sure there will be other things. It's only been 7 months. I still worry, a lot. Will we have jobs, will we find a place to live, will we be poor, will we be happy here, will the kids be happy here, and always, in the back of my mind, when will there next be a war, and what will happen to us in it? Because in Israel it's always "when" and not "if." But l'at l'at, as they say, slowly slowly, we are settling in, feeling more comfortable, feeling more glad to be here--to be home.

Lessons learned, part 3 of 4

9. Everything costs more here. Everything. My tendency when packing is to be minimalist, but I really wish I had packed more of those little random things—needles and thread, first aid items, sippy cups. School supplies here? Three times the price, if you want good quality. Barak desperately wanted a backpack like his classmates’, so I bought him one, but oh do I wish I had stocked up at Target the previous August. There is no such thing here as a $1 pack of crayola markers. A pack of good quality pencils is $4. Bring it. Yes, you can buy everything here, but you’ll pay more and it won’t last as long.

10. Leave room in your budget for the unexpected. For us, there were two huge unexpected expenses: transportation and food. We did not expect to be paying about NIS 800 a month to get children to and from school, and we did not know that the cafeteria food would be so soy-laden that two of our kids couldn’t eat most of it. It threw an extra NIS 2000 onto our monthly expenses. When you thought you’d be able to manage the first year on your sal klita, that’s a huge difference.

11. NBN grants are not what they once were. The economy is down, their fundraising is down, and the days of $18k grants are gone. I did not know this when I applied and it was a very big shock to get our grant letter. Obviously any gift is wonderful, helpful and appreciated; I am very grateful for what they gave us. But don’t count on the money, or even on any ballpark amount that you think likely. As I was told, "we give away as much as we have," and what they have changes month to month.

12. Ask for help. Forget that American thing of self-reliance. You can’t make aliya without other people. Try not to call the same person every time, but get over the not wanting to call. You have to. When someone offers to help, put their number in your cell phone.

We interrupt this series of posts to bring you

a totally unrelated post.

I can't sleep. This NEVER happens to me. I have always been able to fall asleep more or less the minute my head hits the pillow, probably because I am so perpetually underrested. Since I got back from America, the jetlag has been killing me. Not only that, but I seem to have developed, overnight, an inability to metabolize caffeine. I have been, to put it bluntly, something of a Diet Coke junkie for the last, oh, twenty years or so. It has never been even a tiny bit of an issue for my sleep; I have never thought twice about drinking full-octane Diet Coke right before bed. Apparently, I can't do this anymore, as of last week sometime. Two days ago I drank Diet Coke while working and couldn't sleep until 5 am; the next day I didn't have any and fell asleep by 1, which is the earliest I've been able to sleep since I got back.

My schedule is bad enough sleep-wise. If I can't take advantage of every opportunity I have to sleep, it's a disaster. I've kind of been a wreck the last couple of weeks.

Right now it is 3 am. I am pretty sure the reason I can't sleep is that I went out (yes! I went out! with my husband! and no children!) for pizza (that wasn't the plan but it's what ended up happening) earlier this evening and had a Diet Coke with my pizza because come on, what's pizza without Diet Coke? I think this was a terrible mistake. I really really can't sleep.

Oh, have I told you about Hadassah the Amazing? We love Hadassah the Amazing. She is the chesed girl that Onetiredema's... friend? cousin? someone? set us up with. Every Tuesday at 2:30 she turns up as if by magic and for two hours entertains children, holds babies, and--wait for it--sometimes even washes the dishes. For free. This is part of her seminary program--the doing of chesed. For some inexplicable reason, despite the pervading craziness of our household, she appears to like us, and offered to babysit for us this evening so we could go out for dinner (the original plan. the pizza happened when the restaurant we went all the way around Jerusalem to get to had downgraded from its previously mehadrin hashgacha. alas). Not only did she do this FOR FREE, but when I came home she had washed ALL the gross crusty dishes in the sink AND put away all the toys.

Amazing. Lovely. Really. Tuesdays are totally the best day of the week because of her.

Let's see, what else...

Oh, Barak earned his airplane. For the last seven months or however long it's been, both he and Iyyar have had jars of coins. For every night of civilized bedtime (read: I do not have to go into their rooms after 8 pm and they do not come out) they get a coin, valued at 1 shekel or 25 cents (yes we still play fantasy exchange rate around here) in their jar. Said coins are exchangeable for Playmobil or, upon discussion, other things. Barak decided back in September sometime that he wanted the white airplane. This would be the $52 giant Playmobil jet. I said, that is an insanely expensive toy and I am not buying it for you but you may feel free to earn it. And he has been. Every day he makes sure I dropped in a shekel, he's been counting them regularly, and before my trip he had about 165 in there. I told him that if I heard only exemplary reports during my absence, I would front him the other 50 and bring him the plane, but it was going to live in his room so Avtalyon couldn't dismember it like he does all the other Playmobil. Barak was naturally only too happy with this, and I brought him back the plane. Now Barak has set his sights on the airport AND the cargo area. I'm not even sure they make the airport anymore, but I'm very happy he's a) so good at delaying gratification and b) working toward some nonviolent toys for a change.

I am really looking forward to Shabbos. I decided to give myself an "off" Shabbos. No guests (sorry Alisha, you don't count as a guest) and I am not going to stress about what the house looks like. Not only that, but I got a Groupon coupon for catered Shabbos food and used it, so Abba is going to Talpiot to pick up some Naomi Catering food--really really expensive stuff but we paid NIS 80 for NIS 200 of food so it's OK. I have chicken soup left from last week so all I have to do is make matzo balls, buy challah and chummous and dessert, and I'm set. I may also make sushi, just because I love sushi and because Alisha is coming, but I may not. I'll see. I have no plans to get out of pajamas the entire day.

Do I try to go to sleep again? I am really really wide awake here. Hmm. Maybe I'll take some knitting into bed with me and see how that goes. Stay tuned, as always, to this ever-exciting channel.

Lessons learned, part 2 of 4

5. I know everyone says this but it’s so easy to forget: as hard as all the transition is on you, it’s ten times harder on your kids. They WILL act up. They WILL be monsters. And as much as you want to scream at them, “Why are you doing this to me when you see what I’m trying to deal with right now?” they are saying to you, “I need you to reassure me that some things are still the same.”

6. At least half the details you thought were worked out will fall through. For us, it was schools and school transportation. We arrived thinking all three boys had schools and workable ways to get there; in the end, only Avtalyon did. It was really, really hard to let go of the plans we had that obviously weren’t happening, and even harder to start from scratch the day before school started for Barak. In the end, it was really truly for the best: they are both in fantastic schools, both, I think, much better for them than the places we’d chosen from the States. But it was hard, hard, hard.

7. If you don’t speak Hebrew, start working on it as soon as you decide you’re making aliya. For us, it was hiring an Israeli babysitter and asking her to only speak Hebrew with the kids and, as much as possible, with me. I can’t even begin to say how much this helped. I still speak Hebrew like a caveman, but I can function in Hebrew: I can mostly say what I need to and I mostly understand what people say to me. This is about 90% because of Asnat. Also, get a copy of “The First Thousand Words in Hebrew.” It’s cute, it’s not taxing, and it’s a good thing to look at while you’re nursing a baby, sitting on the couch on Shabbos, or between things.


8. Don’t believe the people who say your kids will speak Hebrew by Chanuka. Yes there are kids like that but they are not the majority and your kids will probably not be among them. Find out exactly what help your kids are entitled to, and insist on it. Call again and again and again. This is not rude; it’s expected. Get the teacher’s home phone number and check in regularly. Again: expected. The more the administration sees you involved, the more they will pay attention to your kid. Israeli classrooms are big and if your kid isn’t acting up, the teacher will not see a problem—even if one is there. Barak, for example, is not picking up Hebrew quickly. He is now getting 10 hours a week of 1:1 tutoring at no cost to me. If I hadn’t hocked the principal mercilessly for four months straight, he’d be getting exactly 0.

Lessons Learned: Part 1 of 4

It’s been seven months since we made aliya. As the saying goes, the next time I make aliya I’ll get it right. (Joke: you can only do it once.) Some things we did get right. Some things not. Some things are still works in progress. But for the record, seven months in, for those considering this: here are my thoughts on aliya with 4 little kids and a husband who kind of turned up for the whole process the morning we got on the plane.

There are 16 of them and this is too long for one post, so I’ve broken it up into four posts and postdated them; keep checking back, because a new one magically appear every few days even if I don’t go near Blogger. Fun fun!

1. Start thinking about packing as soon as you are sure you want to go. Not as soon as you know you’re going or as soon as you have a date. As soon as you have decided that aliya is for you, start thinking about how you are going to deal with your stuff. For us, this was 23 full months before we actually got on a plane, with the added uncertainty of not knowing when/if/for how long we were actually moving to Israel, and what we would be doing with our apartment in the States.

In that time, I did not buy new furniture, I sold things (like my loom and second spinning wheel) that I knew I would not take with me, I did not buy anything that I would not either use up or want to take with me. I also went through my storage space about eight months before, and threw out or donated everything I did not plan to ship. Then I went through our entire apartment, room by room, and cleaned and organized, such that I did not, when it came time to actually pack, have to deal with drawers of junk, closets of undifferentiated stuff, drawers of random papers, etc.

2. So far as actually packing, I started putting things in boxes two months before we left. This part is hard, because you need your stuff, but you also need to start packing well ahead. So first I packed up yarn and books, and then clothes that were out of season or not yet grown into; in the meantime, packing stuff into boxes for storage. I also made lists of the stuff I packed to ship, in an ongoing Word file. In retrospect, I wish I had also done this for stuff I’d packed to store—it would have made my recent return trip much easier if I could have looked on a list and seen that the pirate bike helmet was in box #16. But I did the packing alone, with a pretty stressful job, four kids (one of them a newborn), nothing like enough childcare for the hours I was working, and a mostly absentee husband who was working 14-hour days himself. I couldn’t manage that part.

3. Start thinking about the actual flight as soon as you have tickets. I bought new backpacks for the kids who didn’t already have, and confiscated Barak and Iyyar’s backpacks a few days before we left to fill them with all manner of goodies: sticker books, Playmobil, matchbox cars, all kinds of things I knew they would like (that didn't make the bags too heavy for them to carry themselves). I also, the day before we left, made them each snack bags, all full of borderline treaty but basically healthy food: crackers, animal crackers, cheese sticks, carrot muffins, etc. (Nobody ate the pb & j. It doesn’t travel well.) These were separate little bags with handles that they could carry in their hands. That way, I didn’t have a huge bag of food in my carryon, minimizing the weight on my back, and they didn’t have to ask me every time they wanted a pretzel. The juice boxes had to go in my bag, though, because of security.

4. I think my biggest mistake, so far as packing was concerned, was being too practical. I underestimated how much I would want my own psychological comfort items: our pictures on the walls, my own kitchen equipment, my yarn stash; how much my kids would want all their own random toys (even the ones from the thrift store with pieces missing), their own familiar sheets and pillowcases, etc. The biggest smile I saw after we got here was on Iyyar’s face after I’d hung our old fish shower curtain in the bathroom. We didn’t send a lift, to save about $2000; it didn’t make sense financially when we were moving into a furnished apartment and didn't know where we would be long-term. In retrospect, it was a mistake. I wanted our wedding pictures, I wanted our own curtains, I wanted our favorite plastic cereal bowls, not new ones. Change is hard, and familiar items really help.

In which I sit down to email Grandma E and decide to blog instead, since I'd be typing the same things anyway

(Grandma E, just pretend this post starts, "Hi Grandma E!, okay?")

So, here's the other conversation. Roman type is Hebrew, italic is English.

The scene: I am picking Iyyar up from gan. Right next to the gan is a bais yaakov (girls' school) with a tzaharon (afternoon program), which some of the girls from Iyyar's gan, which ends at 1:30, attend. Usually one of the ganenot walks them over; today she was in a hurry and asked me if I would. I said sure. So off we headed, me (with Marika in the my tai), Iyyar, and two Israeli girls, aged about five. I was speaking English to Iyyar and didn't want them to feel left out, so I said to one of them, in Hebrew:

Me: We are speaking English. We are from America so we speak English at home. What language do you speak at home?
Girl #1: I speak Hebrew at home.
Girl #2. I also speak Hebrew. But I know English also!
Me: Really? What do you know in English?
Girl #2 Onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten!
Me: Wow! That's great! Good job. What else do you know?
Girl #2: Go to sleep young lady!

****************

This, coincidentally, is the phrase of the week around here.

We got back on Monday. Oh, you didn't know we'd been away? (Grandma E. knew. Hardly anyone else did because I never got around to emailing or calling to tell anyone. I am bad. I am sorry.) The trip was good. Seeing Yehudis and Yehudis's kids, of whom I am extremely fond, was great. Eating soy-free hamburgers, Ben and Jerry's, and all my Trader Joe's favorites was also great, as was drinking Diet Coke in cans ($2 each here so I never do that). Work was also good. Marika was absolutely amazing, both on the way there and back and during the trip. But since we got back? As they say, oh-em-gee. She has been jetlagged like nobody's business, up crying till 3:20 am, happy and playing if I go in to get her, hysterical when I put her back down. Today is day five and I am being cruel and letting her cry. It's been three hours. I am not good at this.

So as I attempt to distract myself from the pitiful wails of my baby in the next room, how's about a list?

1. Usually, when you invite teenage boys for Shabbos, they sit and do nothing. Girls, on the other hand, don't sit down unless you are sitting down, without a direct command. Such as the completely delightful Birthright girls we had a few weeks ago, one of whom (hi Emily!) may be reading this post right now.

This Shabbos, we had--well, no lashon hara from me. But if you are a seminary girl/yeshiva bochur/other young single person staying for shabbos at the home of a rebbe/teacher/family friend/total stranger, I have three pieces of advice for you:

a. Do not show up completely empty-handed. Spend NIS 8 on a bottle of Prigat if you must, or NIS 8 on an Osem cake. But bring something. If you are part of a group, one thing from everyone is fine, even if you are a bunch of teenagers. It is absolutely and totally the thought that counts here.

b. OFFER TO HELP AND MEAN IT. If you arrive to see your hostess flying around her apartment frantically finishing up Shabbos prep with a baby on one arm, a screaming toddler glued to her leg, and the floor is not swept and there are two sinksful of dirty dishes, ask where the broom is and what else you can do. Do not disappear into your room and come back five minutes later asking what the wireless password is.

c. Say thank you. Also, compliment the food. Even if you didn't like it.

Oh, and one more thing.

d. If your host's 6-year-old son asks you to look at the Lego spaceship he just made, do not say, "No." Because if you do, you will never be invited back. Ever. Ever ever ever.

2. Marika wasn't really walking before the trip. Now she's walking everywhere. Why? Here: stone floors. There: carpet with nice soft underlay. The consequences to falling are a lot milder.

3. Also while in the US, my friend Jenny's Albanian husband gave Marika an Albanian car. When he was a kid there weren't really commercially produced toys, so this is, I think, his dad's design, and a truly fabulous one it is too. This example is one of the coolest things I have ever seen, a little car that is essentially two wire axles, four jam-jar-lid wheels, a piece of wire for the body connecting the two axles, and a third piece of wire connecting the crossbar with a steering wheel. It's just Marika's height and it's actually steerable. She LOVES it and has been driving it around the house since we got home.

4. I forgot how unpleasant it is to be cold. It's been a long time since I was really cold--almost a year. So it was kind of a shock to get out of the shower shivering, or need time to warm up under a blanket, or have "is she cold?" included in the list of possible reasons why the baby isn't sleeping. I don't miss the cold. At all. I do miss the wearing of wool on a daily basis, though.

5. Still no Pesach plans. Ideas? Anyone?

6. One of the things I wanted to pick up while in America was a 220v toaster oven. Why, you ask? Aren't these things available here? Well, yes, they are, but you will pay twice as much for probably not as good quality, or the same price for about a tenth the quality. I wanted a Black and Decker 35 liter, which I'd seen online for $100. So I went into a random 220 appliance store, and saw it on the shelf for $169. It was one of those Pakistani stores, though, so I thought it was worth a shot to bargain. "That one is $100, right? That's what I saw it at online." The owner didn't bat an eyelash. "Yeah, it's $100." I should've said $90.

7. I came back from the US with three full-to-capacity checked bags (mostly stuff from my storage space, some online purchases), a new stroller, a carseat, a carryon, two diaper bags and, oh yes, a baby. I got out of the cab and the cab driver got me a cart ($3! only in America) and loaded it all on there for me, and then I was on my own, pushing the unwieldy cart, pulling the stroller, trying to keep things from falling off, manuevering past line barriers etc. It was 4 am and Marika was not so happy about any of it. Not one person offered to help, even though a couple looked at me sympathetically and one said, affably, "Well you've got your hands full!" As soon as I got to the boarding area, I was spotted by Israelis who a) helped me with my carryon and carseat and b) once the plane took off, passed Marika a bag of Bamba. A series of other random Israelis then helped me haul stuff off plane and onto next plane, helped me while on the plane, helped me get my luggage, and helped me get my luggage into the Nesher. It left me with a marked preference for the people who live here.

I don't think Americans are mean or hate babies or are unsympathetic generally. I think it's a national attitude of self-reliance run amok, a feeling that if you're doing this alone you must be able to do it alone or you wouldn't be doing it, right?

Wrong. If you see someone who looks like s/he needs help, for pity's sake OFFER. Do not worry about offending. Just offer. I once worked as a reader for a blind professor, and we had this conversation. "People don't want to offend, so they don't offer help. But every blind person in the world has had the experience of being really stuck for help and not getting it, and they will ALWAYS appreciate the offer. If I don't need help, I can always say 'no, but thank you for offering.'" If you see a woman with a stroller at the bottom of a flight of stairs, offer to help. Please.

8. Marika is still awake. Ai! Ai yai yai! Ai yai yai! If I go in there she will smile, pat her tummy, and want me to tickle her. Have I mentioned lately her fantastic palatalized consonants, the despair of many a student of the Russian language? At'! Dat'! And her Hungarian gy's are fabulous. One of her favorite phrases is "bugyi bugyi!" I know she's just babbling, because I have rarely spoken a word of Hungarian in her presence, but it's still fun, and funny, to hear her say "undies undies!"

9. I saw Tootsie Rolls in the shuk the other day. This is good, because now that I know they're here I won't ask people to bring them for me, and I will ultimately eat fewer of them.

10. Naomi met me at Newark airport with an absolutely perfect bagel. Everything on top, fresh and chewy inside, lox and cream cheese in the middle. I'm still thinking about it, almost a week later.

11. This past week was hard. But one thing I should mention. On Friday, right before Shabbos when everything was so crazy, Avtalyon distracted me and my really really sharp little yellow parve knife sliced right through my finger. I grabbed a sock off the laundry rack, held it as tight as I could, and davened as hard as I could NOT TO NEED STITCHES PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE. It worked. I didn't. And I really need to stop and be grateful for this, because if I had needed stitches, that would have been really really not fun.

12. Marika very rarely cries, this week excepted. But the Shabbos we were in the States, I tried to get her to nap when she wasn't into the idea, and was in there crying for maybe 20 minutes before I relented. When I went in, she was standing holding onto the sides of her crib, eyes red and puffy. When she saw me, she scowled, and then POINTED TO HER EYES and cussed a blue streak. "Ah ja bee da bee da da BABY! Ah na na IMMA! BABY! Ah na na IMMA! Ah nana nee ah da bee boo ba na! " There was no doubt about it. It was, "See! Look IMMA! Look what you made me do! You made the BABY CRY! GET ME OUT OF HERE RIGHT NOW!" Needless to say, I did.

13. Anyone have a job for my husband? He needs one. Ideas welcome. Also, information about schools teaching limmudei kodesh in English, to girls/boys/problem children, that are hiring, more than welcome.

14. Marika is still awake. It is 11:22 PM. Last night she was up till 1:30, woke up at 8, had a two-hour nap, and was exhausted and rubbing her eyes at 6. I kept her up till a little after 7, and put her down; she woke up an hour later and has now been at it for three hours straight. GO TO SLEEP YOUNG LADY!

One of the conversations

It was raining pretty hard one morning and Avtalyon wasn’t feeling good, which threw a wrench into my taking-Barak-to-school routine. Usually we walk, take the bus, and walk some more, and the round-trip for me is around an hour and a half. While we're gone, Abba takes Avtalyon to school, which clearly wasn't happening this morning, nor was Abba going to be able to daven until I got back (usually after 9 am). Given the circumstances, a cab seemed in order, so for the second time this year, I called one. It was absolutely pouring when the cab pulled up and we climbed in; I buckled Barak into his booster and as we pulled away I realized that the driver was not wearing a seatbelt. This, I felt, needed to be addressed. The following conversation, I am proud to say, happened entirely in Hebrew (his side) and Hebrew [caveman] (mine).

Me: Where’s your seatbelt?
Driver, stating the obvious: I’m not wearing it.
Me: But why? That’s very dangerous.
Driver: I don’t like it. It bothers me.
Me: It would bother you much more to fly into the window.
Driver: True.

[pause]

Me. It’s raining a lot. Don’t you think you need your seatbelt?
Driver: [mumble mumble]
Me, pulling out the heavy artillery: What would your mother say?
Driver: I’m big already.
Me: She still wants you alive.
Driver: True.
Me: She wants you to wear a seatbelt. I am sure.
Driver (weakening): But she doesn’t know.
Me: Maybe I’ll call her.
Driver, admitting defeat but being a complete good sport: I’m putting it on.

He did, too. And I didn't see him unbuckling it as he was pulling away, either.

Two conversations

So mad!! So so mad!

I wrote a post. I wrote a long post. I wrote a long and funny post. Which I SAVED AS A DRAFT. And then published.

And then? Blogger ATE IT.

And now you will NEVER EVER KNOW how I got the cab driver to wear his seatbelt this morning OR what priceless gem of English was shared with me by one of Iyyar's classmates.

Because Blogger ATE MY POST.

[fume]

Going to bed now. Gnnnnarrrgh!

PS. Cyndy, if you are reading, I think the Roman galleon has now officially been loved more than any other toy in the history of children's playthings. Just so you know. Also, I just bought the motor that attaches to it, and may actually let them attach it so that they can sail the thing on one of those gigantic puddles we now have outside. Historical accuracy? What's that? Stay tuned, as always, to this exciting channel.

A day in the life

The alarm goes off at 6:15, but I never hear it. I wake up when my husband pokes his head in the bedroom and says, "It's almost 7, you'd better get up." Almost 7 is WAY too late, so I get up and get dressed and hear assorted small boys in assorted states of undress shuttle around the house, looking for shoes, discussing lunches, requesting peanut butter AND HONEY AND CINNAMON NOT JELLY PLEASE. Is there a string cheese left in the fridge? Can I have a red apple, not cutted up? Marika is usually still asleep so once I am mostly dressed I go in and pick her up, all warm and sleepy with a funky bedhead, and nurse her and change her diaper and get her dressed; at this point it is around 7:15 and Abba has put Iyyar in the neighbors' car for his trip to gan. Barak and I should be out the door by 7:20 but it's usually more like 7:30 these days (we need to work on that). Check for keys, bus pass, phone, and wallet, put Marika in the snugli (which is really a my tai) and out the door. Turn right, through the gate, down the stairs, and along the dirt path; over the bridge over the highway and across the street to wait for the bus. Invariably, the bus trundles past as we are crossing the bridge. On the bus, which is usually packed but on which someone almost always gets up to give me a seat: Barak usually ends up standing, which used to freak him out but he's used to it by now.

On the highway, off the highway, and we get off the bus right by the Bridge of Strings, on Herzl at the bottom of Yamin Avot. Look to see if the new light rail trains are there today (they haven't been for a while, but the other day Iyyar and I saw two of them, actually running, in the early afternoon--a first, and very exciting). Hike up the hill with Barak, and then down the hill, discussing everything from the concept of negligence and criminal negligence to what treats we want for Shabbos this week. Barak and I have a deal that he is allowed to stop at the bakery we pass once a week for a treat; it's too much to never stop there, because it smells so good, and this way he doesn't hock me every day because he knows it's his decision. If he decides today is the day, he can pick two things, and invariably goes for sandwich cookies because by his logic, that way he's getting FOUR things. (I get a little cheese danish for me and an oatmeal cookie for Marika.) Get to Barak's school usually just as the kids are going in; some days he just marches in without a word, some days he asks for a kiss and even gives me one too (!) I tell him I love him and wish him a wonderful day, then turn around and go back to the corner.

If it's Thursday, I turn right and go grocery shopping. I used to go to Hechi Kedai, the less expensive, more crowded, much smaller chareidi grocery near us, but haven't been lately; I can't go there by myself, logistically, and it is just not a fun experience if I take Iyyar, who wants me to buy everything and is not good at keeping his fingers off things. So I go to Supersol, which has the fun cheese counter, but charges for delivery and really isn't as cheap in general. I know I should go to Hechi Kedai for everything but cheese and the few fancy things you can only get at Supersol, but it hasn't happened for a few weeks.

If it's not Thursday, I turn right, walk back to Herzl and get there just in time to see my bus rumble by; I sit down and wait, get on the bus, go home, and have a snack with Marika--bread and cheese usually. Put her down for a nap, and take a nap myself if I am lucky. Both of us wake up sometime before lunch, and I either go and get Iyyar or Avtalyon, usually Iyyar because his gan is farther away and I have a monthly bus pass but Abba doesn't. Up to the bus stop and on the bus, which only goes halfway up the hill; walk through the park, up the rest of the hill, cross the street, down the hill, and wait until the gan's doors open at 1:30 bi'dyuk.

Greet a smiling Iyyar, then walk halfway home and take the bus from where we can catch it, at the top of where all the stairs start. By the time we get back Abba and Avtalyon are in the kitchen eating lunch, from the dining hall, and Avtalyon is usually covered in hummous and missing most of his clothes, because although he is now down with the idea of using the toilet he still thinks he has to be naked to do so.

Abba heads back to seder at 2:45, and then we play or read books or find other things to do (laundry! baths!) until Barak comes home at around 4:30; sometimes we go outside, sometimes not. Wrestle with Barak a bit over homework but don't push it; I don't believe in forcing homework, which is his job, not mine. Sometimes Marika takes a short nap at around 5, sometimes not. Barak gets his milchig snack as soon as he comes home from school (usually cornflakes and milk, sometimes also yogurt) and always forgets to clean up; I always remind him and then he does. The boys start falling apart and fighting at about 6, like clockwork. They're tired, they want dinner, it's been a long day. Get kids in pajamas and do cleanup (you don't clean, you don't eat--yes I am mean like that) before Abba comes home with dining hall food, if it is a day that seems soy-safe. If the menu looks dangerous, allergy-wise, which is about half the time, I make dinner at around 5 and everyone is happier. I'd do it every day, even with the terrible kitchen setup, if it weren't for the fact that the dining hall food is free and the Supersol food is anything but.

Abba gets back at about 7:15, which is way too late, but what can you do? 20 minutes for dinner, max, and then herd the kids into the bathroom for teeth-brushing and pajamas. Bedtime at 8, which is when Abba goes back for night seder. The kids are usually in bed at this point, but rarely asleep before 9. I am at my computer working, having also been checking in by email throughout the afternoon from when the workday started in America. I don't make phone calls until I'm sure everyone is asleep, and sometimes that isn't until really, really late.

At 10, night seder is over and Abba comes home; he stays in the kitchen, checking email or sometimes doing dishes/laundry/taking out garbage. I try to get him in bed before midnight, but it doesn't always happen. I work until at least 1, often 2, depending on what time the kids went to sleep and I started working; then shower, teeth, bed.

And then the alarm goes off. And I don't hear it.

My favorite thing

I will confess: I like riding Jerusalem buses. It's a really good thing too, because I spend an incredible amount of time these days riding Jerusalem buses.

A few weeks ago, I was feeling ambitious and decided to take everyone to the zoo, solo. I had Avtalyon and Marika all ready when Iyyar came home, and the three of us went up to meet Barak's hasaa at 2:15. He didn't know about my exciting plans--I hadn't said anything for fear one of the littler kids wouldn't be up for it--so when I saw him, I asked him if he wanted to go to the zoo, and when he (obviously) said yes, I told him to run inside and dump his backpack by the shomer's desk (I'd already asked the shomer if this was OK). He was on his way when a couple of high school girls headed in the other direction, who'd overheard, offered to take it for him.

(Would you give your kid's backpack to a couple of strange teenagers in America? Probably not, huh? Here, I didn't think twice.)

Anyway, we went to the zoo, and it was great. We saw the squirrel monkeys, which was awesome, particularly because Avtalyon is obsessed with Caps for Sale and what did he see when he woke up from his stroller-induced nap but a tree full of... monkeys! We saw tigers, we saw wild boars, and of course we saw the best thing in the zoo: the display of North American grey squirrels! Behind bars, where they belong.

On the way back, though, it was harder, because the kids were tired and the bus, it was PACKED. Like, no room to get on in front, so we got on through the back door. And there I was with Marika in the Snugli, Avtalyon in the stroller wedged between my knees, Iyyar in my lap falling asleep on top of me Barak leaning on my side with a sort of glazed look. Nobody was falling apart or anything, but I was buried in children and completely immobile. And I was stuck in the middle of the bus, way far away from the driver. How, exactly, was I going to pay our fares?

I asked. "Excuse me," I said to the nearest guy, "I'm a new immigrant [this is always a good thing to mention when you are about to ask for help] and I don't know what I am supposed to do. How do I pay when I can't get to the driver? Can I pay when I get off?" I had my tickets in my hand. "How many?" he asked me. Um, what? "Me, and my kids. One adult punch and two youth punches, and we all need transfers." In Jerusalem, when you don't travel often enough for a monthly pass, you buy cartissiot--a multi-trip card that comes with a certain number of punches, each good for one trip and one transfer. The guy reached out his hand and took my tickets. How nice! I thought. He's going to take them to the driver for us.

But he didn't. He couldn't really move any more than I could, so he reached up over everyone's heads and passed the tickets as far forward as he could. "One adult, two youth, with transfers," he called over to another stranger. That stranger's hand passed the tickets to another hand, out of my sight. "One adult, two youth, with transfers." Four minutes later, hand over hand, the tickets came back--minus one adult punch and two youth punches, and with the transfer tickets.

Maybe there's another city in the world where you could do this. But if there is, I've never been there.

Hey look at that!

When I post, more people read this blog! Who'd a thunk?

Avtalyon is currently rounding Hour Three of his afternoon/evening nap and oh yes I will regret this but I just can't bring myself to wake him up, because he's just out like a light and I know he'll be miserable if I haul him out of bed before he's ready. Random thoughts, without even prefatory numbers:

What is up with this Israeli school project of sticking clay on paper? Big mess, result too heavy to hang on fridge.

Barak's new tutor: awesome. He loves it. LOVES. Like, he is sad on days he does not have Morah Yocheved.

I spoke Hungarian on the bus today. Someone behind me was talking, in French-accented Hebrew, about the town of Kolozsvar/Klausenberg and all the different names it has. She pronounced the word "Kolozsvar" so correctly I turned around and said, in Hungarian, "But of course the real name for it is Kolozsvar." She agreed, in Hungarian, and we had a nice chat on the 21 bus that was going nowhere in the traffic nightmare that is now downtown Jerusalem. I know the light rail project is supposed to fix the traffic, eventually, but so far? Not so much. Of course, the train is not actually running yet, so we will see, I suppose.

Avtalyon is being delightful lately. Actually, everyone is, although Barak is in a testing phase of "what will happen if I ignore you?" Because he is, on a very fundamental level, a kid who wants to be good, my approach to this has been explaining to him why this is not nice and how it makes other people feel. Not sure how successful it's being, but I'm going to stick with it for a while.

Last night I Went Out With A Friend. On Motzai Shabbos. To a restaurant. Without children. This is an exceptionally exceptional thing for me to do, and it was fun, even though I got totally turned around on the way back and ended up having to take a taxi home. It is really important to go out with girlfriends and without kids once in a blue moon. I forget this sometimes.

I need to post about our daily routine. Maybe that'll be next. Also about our hasaa developments, which I will not call woes because they aren't really that bad, just inconvenient. But okay generally. Stay tuned.

Registered Avtalyon and Iyyar in gan for next year this morning. It took two trips, because I had not taken the forms for a direct debit to the bank in advance of coming, because last time I registered them for gan (in August) I did not need to. This time, I did. Fortunately I was able to fill out the forms at the branch on Ben Yehuda and go back to the iriya, thereby at least accomplishing something today. Which is always good.