Pictures

I have a Second Rule of Parenting to share - but unfortunately, my TA doesn't understand the importance of blogging, and expects me to turn in my homework tonight like everyone else. So in the meantime, an anecdote and some pictures:

The pictures are of Adi's latest art class creations. This one is a hedgehog:


This next one you can probably recognize for yourself:
 and this ----- >




.... is a pink eyeless mouse. Get your mind out of the gutter.

******

And now for the anecdote: today I was approached by an upset 4-year-old. "Mommy, nothing is working," she said sadly. Then, even more sadly, "And it's all your fault."

I'm not sure why she was looking for my comfort on that one. Maybe she assumed that, as the one who's lived with me the longest, I would share her pain.

Consider Yourself Warned - R - Refrigerators

Refrigerators. Wonderful inventions that allow you to put milk in your coffee in the morning without spending the afternoon writhing in pain from stomach cramps, and provide safety in case of a nuclear blast? Or do their placid exteriors mask sinister secrets?

Let's find out.

(Above is my fridge. This part would be more effective if it included the Jaws theme song. So if you don't mind, please hum that to yourself for a minute. I'll wait.)


Since the kids got tall enough to open the fridge, opening it has become... interesting. Not because of the leftovers that get shoved to the back and then stay there until they grow enough forms of mold that I feel like I'm committing genocide when I wash them out; I had those when I was single, too.

No, the post-baby-production problem is the "cooking projects." I suppose in a few years I'll be happy that my kids love cooking (assuming they haven't ditched it in favor of the internet by then). But for now - you know what? Let me share some recipes my kids came up with, and we'll see if you can't figure out the issue for yourselves:

Recipe #1: Salad:

What's above is just a sample salad. The beauty of the salad is that anything - literally anything - can be an ingredient.

Utensils needed: a plate, scissors.

Preparation:

Step 1: Grab whatever food items and/or non-food items are easiest to reach.

Step 2: Begin chopping them into pieces and putting them on the plate.

Step 3: Your sister thinks it's her turn to chop now. Remind her of her rightful place with a forceful push to the torso.

Step 4: Continue chopping.

Step 5: Great. She stole the scissors, and you can't cry to mom because mom wouldn't exactly like what you're doing. Wait.

Step 6: Grab scissors back.

Step 7: Once you've chopped until the point where it looks like a dog scarfed a liter of jelly beans and then horked them up all over your kitchenware, bring the plate to show mom (what's she going to do? it's too late to stop you).

Step 8: Suggest mom take a bite.

Step 9: Insist.

Step 10: Cry.

Step 11: Holy crap, did that actually work? Did she really just taste it?

Step 12: Laugh.


Recipe 2: Cookies:

In order to make cookies, first you'll need to find cookies. (If that line seemed illogical to you, clearly you've lost your sense of childlike wonder.) Once you have your cookies and other ingredients, continue as follows:

Step 1: Mash the cookies.

Step 2: Rip the bag of sugar open, even if it was already open. Make sure it spills into the hard-to-reach places in the corners of the room and not just on the table itself.

Step 3: Pour chocolate syrup in your sister's hair.

Step 4: Now she's sad. Pacify her by pouring chocolate syrup in your own hair.

Step 5: Put ingredients in a cup in no particular order.

Step 6: Put cup in the freezer.

Step 7: The next time you've built a fort, bring your cookies in to snack on. If prepared properly, the cookies will be frozen solid, so just lick the top a bit.

Step 8: Leave the rest for mom to discover several days later.


Recipe #3: Chocolate milk:

Preparation:
Step 1: Pour milk into cup. You should use the milk that Dad just told you is only for cereal and not for any more of your cooking projects.

Warning: do not empty the cup of its original contents before pouring. Pour until milk hits the top of the cup.

Step 2: Keep pouring milk for another several seconds, just to be sure.

Step 3: What's on the table? Soggy cereal? Leftover soup nuts? Banana peel? Those would go great in your milk. Shove them in there.

Step 4: There's probably something fun on the floor, too. Do you see any playdoh, or maybe some tissue? Go ahead and put that in too.

Step 5: Chocolate milk is better cold. Put some ice in there. Don't bother to shut the freezer door, you'll just need to open it again someday.

Step 6: Put your milk in the fridge for later. Put it right near the front, balanced precariously next to the vegetables, for easier access.

Step 7: Did Mom just spill your chocolate milk again? She's so inconsiderate.

Step 8: Cry.


Recipe #4: Grated Noodle Surprise:

This one doesn't really need a picture or instructions. It's just what it sounds like: grated noodles, wherever you least expect them.

Lost in Translation

Many of you have heard of some of my speaking-related mishaps as an American living in Israel.

There were the several years during which I mixed up the words for "alfalfa" and "inner doubts" (nevetim and levetim, respectively). I asked for "inner doubts" on my bagel many times.

Then there was the even longer period during which I mixed up the words for "to take a shower" and "to self ignite." Viggie's friends were often surprised to hear that he was off setting himself on fire (but can I leave you for him a message?).

(Pictured: not the same thing)

Worst was/is definitely the one where I still mix up the words for "to wake up" and "to arouse." Yes, the latter has the same connotations here as in America.

I get around that one by just never using the word "wake up," just in case. Which is sometimes a bit awkward, but always far less awkward than the alternative.

Anyway. My latest language snafu was less embarrassing, but just goes to show how easy it is to slip up. All I did this time was mix up my tenses - I asked someone what she did at her workplace, rather than what she does. Why is that so bad? It's usually not - unless the person you're talking to is in their 50s, and it sounds like you're assuming they're over a decade older.

(She was pretty nice about it. Still - I think I'll stick to short, childlike sentences for a while.)

More Art

Another picture from Adi:

Titled "nbnhgh." She chose the name herself.

Paint has become a big thing around here. I can usually get a good 20 minutes of quiet (from the older three, anyway) by letting them "draw on the computer." If only I didn't need quiet the most when I'm on the computer, it would be perfect.

Hey AuntSho

You need to come visit us more often. The girls' hair looks terrible.

Explanation for other readers: As you might expect from someone who can't draw anything more sophisticated than egg people (and that only with help from Paint), I am less than good at cutting hair. Right now poor Adi has some bangs that hover just over her eyebrows, and some going down nearly to the tip of her nose.

I would fix it, but my "fixing" is more likely than not to backfire. So... Sho! My poor appearance-conscious children need you.

The First Rule of Parenting

So the kids found yet another use for their styrofoam box.

That's Adi giving Noya a bath as Dani and a friend look on. (The floor isn't usually that color, that's my attempt to portray it covered in an inch of dirty water.)

For once, they took turns so nicely that I didn't realize what they were doing until the second child was already in the "bath."

At that point, looking at the soapy water all over the bathroom and hallway, I had a realization. It was just like when Newton was hit by that apple, except not fictional.

That realization, which I hope will be known in the future as Ali's First Rule of Parenting, is as follows: the number of minutes of silence you experience as your child plays out of eyesight is directly proportionate to the number of minutes you will spend cleaning up after whatever it is they are doing. Or Q = xC, where Q is Quiet, C is Cleaning time, and x is a coefficient that I have yet to confirm, but believe to be somewhere between 2 and 3.

Nobody steal my genius theory, please. And if I discover any more Rules of Parenting I'll share them here. (I am getting hit with proverbial apples all the freaking time, so it seems likely that additional Rules are to come. That or a concussion, anyway.)

WTH, Avengers

I'm planning to post a follow-up to the kids' styrofoam box adventures later tonight. But in the meantime, a brief rant about the Avengers movie.

Warning: this post contains spoilers for the Avengers movie. As does pretty much any superhero movie you've seen in the past few years.

OK, so I actually liked Avengers, and I'm not all that into comic-based movies (Viggie has to explain who the characters are, and I always feel bad for all the innocent civilians being killed, although I felt a bit better during Avengers knowing that the soon-to-be-deceased were the morons who decided to stay in Manhattan despite all they'd been through in Hulk and the Spider Man movies). It was fun to watch.

But when are these movies going to get themselves a new ending already? Civilians are threatened by a thing, Hero brings it way way up in the sky, then falls back to earth OH NO WILL HE MAKE IT???

The suspense is killing me ----->




Yes, of course he'll make it. He made it in Iron Man, in that terrible Superman Returns movie, in Hulk (OK technically he fell before the big fight but still), in Green Lantern (it saddens me that I remember that, I'll have to work harder on completely suppressing my memories of that one), and probably in other movies that I was lucky enough to either forget or never see in the first place.

This is why the new Batman movies are still the best comic book movies. Even though they're gory and I hate that, there's a lot to be said for genuinely not knowing if the main character is going to live.

I understand that not every series can go in that direction, but couldn't they at least threaten their sure-to-survive heroes with a different form of death? Drowning, poisoning, rabid mossad sharks... the possibilities are endless, really.

Consider Yourself Warned - R - Random Crap

You probably realize that the more kids in your house, the more random crap you find everywhere. For example, we have far more puzzle pieces in the house than the sum of all the pieces of the various puzzles we actually own. I can only assume that the missing puzzle pieces (what missing pieces? when you have kids every puzzle has missing pieces. duh) have been sneaking off to have puzzle piece babies.

Complicating this is the fact that if you want to throw anything away, no matter how random or crappy, you have to wait until the kids aren't watching. Because if they see you throwing away one of the 1,500 art projects they created in the past week, or their "fairy wings" that are now just a bent wire with a single square inch of tattered cloth still hanging off of it, or their wad of My Little Pony hair (it's glittery. that makes it special), you'll be hit with the full-on, wide-eyed pouty-lip guilt treatment.

(Side note – there are two types of art projects. Those made at home, which are inevitably kept because it turns out they were drawn over my math notes and I can still sorta make out what’s underneath, and those made at daycare, which are always sticky. I don’t know why the daycare staff always use clay, stickers, and special never-dry paint in their projects; I’m guessing it’s because they hate us.)

At some point in your battle against the never-ending tide of random crap, the random crap will win. And here comes the part you didn't know (good thing I'm here to teach you) - that doesn't have to be a bad thing.

Because while at first you're thinking "Note to self: as soon as they fall asleep, throw away that broken doll house and those stupid fairy wings already," eventually you realize, "Wait a minute. If I pretend I want to throw it away, the kids will decide we have to keep it and play with it for hours. Why was I going to spend money on a new one, again?"

It turns out that kids genuinely like their random crap. So while I still throw things out to prevent the girls' room from being flooded completely (for example, last week I went through several months' worth of old art projects to decide what to keep and what to get rid of - a process that Viggie thankfully did not point out he could have done in 1/50th the time by just throwing it all away), I now not only allow random crap, but actively seek it out.

Case in point: two weeks ago I got my groceries delivered, and the delivery man asked if we'd like to keep the styrofoam box the cold stuff came in. OF COURSE we want a random, crappy box! Here is some of the fun the kids have had with it since: 

Think about it. You must have heard parents joking about how when you buy kids an expensive new Playmobile toy or whatever, all they want to play with is the box. So skip the toy and just get them a box. They'll love it, and you can use the extra money for stuff that you'll need as a parent, like vodka.

Stay tuned for later this week, when I'll teach you about R - Remote Control Helicopters. Unless I get inspired to write about R - Refrigerators first.

Things that really happened (part 2)

Still no more valuable life lessons. My bad.

But in the meantime, please enjoy laughing at me over the following things that really happened today:

(I'm still not sure what that was about)
*******************************************************
7.5 hours later...

*********************************************************
and finally

Not pictured: the bathroom floor being flooded (that's not really worth including - I'd be surprised to see it un-flooded at this point), the hallway floor being painted orange (no, I'm not dumb enough to give them paints and leave them unsupervised. Get this - they actually managed to unpaint a picture they made in gan by soaking the paper, then reuse the paint on the floor. Also, they left dark orange almost-blood-colored handprints on the walls, just in case there weren't enough things to concern social services if they were to drop in sometime), and the moments where I could hear Dani coming from outside the building because of the way she always tries to talk to the stray cats (MIAOW!!! MIIIAAAOOOWWW!!!!!!) at the top of her lungs on the way in.

But hey, nobody pooped OR peed on the floor today (that I've discovered yet), so that makes today a good day in my book.

Ali learns a new parenting technique

Lately I've been struggling with how to punish the kids when they hit each other (or bite, or kick, or scratch, or headbutt... you get the picture).

Time outs worked well when they were younger, but now they're starting to realize that sitting on their beds for a couple of minutes is only a bad thing if they think it is.

Recently I tried getting creative and asking Adi what she thought her punishment should be for hitting. She enjoyed coming up with options.

"You should put me in a box," she said. "You should put me there all day until night. And don't let me come out. And don't let me eat or drink. Just sit in the box."

Then she decided to change one thing:

"Except for hot dogs. You should let me eat hot dogs."

We didn't go with the box thing.

A couple of days ago a neighbor stopped by. I had one of those "aha!" moments. This neighbor has older kids. Said older kids don't seem to be psychopaths. Maybe she can help me!

So I asked her what she does when her younger kids hit each other. She had an interesting approach: instead of punishing them, she uses it as an opportunity to help them learn how to resolve conflict peacefully.

"You ask each one of them for their side of the story," she said. "They each have to listen to each other. Then, you ask them what they think they could do to solve the problem. Whatever they say, give them positive feedback. Like, 'Oh, you think you should get all the candy and your sister shouldn't have any. That's a good idea, that would make you happy. But I don't think it would make your sister happy. Can you think of a solution that would make her happy too?'"

It sounded brilliant. I didn't have to wait long to put it into action.

"Girls," I said with as much parental authority as I had the energy to muster. "What's the problem? Why don't each of you tell me what you think is wrong?"

They more or less agreed what had happened:

I validated their feelings and stuff. Then I put on my best "no idea is a stupid idea" face and asked, "Now what do you think we could do that would make both of you happy?" They thought. I waited.

Viggy looked at me. I looked at him. And... you can probably guess where this is going.

********
On a related note, I noticed recently that there's not much difference between an acid trip and TV programming for kids. The girls were watching something where, I kid you not, Mickey and Goofy slide down a purple slide inside some outer-space like realm inside a clock while colorful objects whirled around them. And then things got weird.

While they were watching I tried to be responsible and have an adult conversation, I really did. "Viggie," I said, "We should talk about the budget."
"Yes," he agreed.
"We need to save more money," I suggested.
"Uh-huh."
"I'm just worried about the whole thing with you going back to school and-"
"Yes."
"Wait, what?"
"Uh-huh."
I realized I had lost Viggie. He had been stolen by Mickey and Goofy's acid-fueled adventure.

As they say, if you can't beat them, join them. And that's how my brief attempt at constructive discipline led to all of us sitting around, staring and Mickey and Goofy and all the pretty colors.

At least the kids stopped fighting over the blanket. So... that's a form of progress, right?

Delayed by drama

I've been meaning to keep going with the warnings (next up: R for Random Crap), but I keep getting interrupted by other people's bodily fluids.

Speaking of, here's another weird thing about potty training - having to act NOT in any way upset by the fact that someone just peed on the floor. After all, you wouldn't want to give them a complex, then they'll be peeing themselves until they're 20 or something.

So instead you choke back the urge to say "AAAAHHH what are you DOING!! I JUST ASKED if you needed to go and you said NO!!!" and instead say "That's OK! Everybody has accidents!"

Who minds a little pee all over the floor? (and the clothes, and the shoes, and the books that were on the floor...)




Anyway. The other thing that's been holding things up over here is the drama.

Adi has a best friend who lives across the street. That means Noya has a best friend/worship object living across the street.

They played with their friend all yesterday afternoon, then played at the park in the evening, then saw each other at a mutual friend's house at night. Then they were all together this morning at gan, then they walked home together, then we parted ways so that we could all go home and have lunch before meeting 80 minutes later to walk to another mutual friend's house to play there.

So of course, after all that time together, and with the plans in place to meet in just over an hour, Noya's reaction to separating after gan was perfectly reasonable:

To be fair, Adi got to go to a friend's house (different friend) and she didn't, which is always a terrible horrible trauma roughly on par with the end of the world. It's tough being not the oldest (not that I'd know. Ha ha, Snan).

The point is: with some luck, a bit less drama, and a lot less pee, your crucial-parenting-knowledge bank should be growing again within the next couple days. And in the meantime, now you've had a sneak peek at D for Drama.

Babies - why are they so cool?

Babies.

They are cute.

Everybody likes babies. If you think about it, that's pretty weird. Babies wake you up at night, cry when you're trying to spend quality time with the internet, never offer to help clear the table, and never notice how you've been losing weight. They vomit right on you and instead of being like "oh my goodness I am so sorry!" they're like "Now I'm hungry again. Feed me."

So I was thinking about this and wondering what it is that makes babies enjoyable despite it all. A big part of it is, of course, the biological imperative. Somewhere in our brains we're wired to find squishy things with huge eyes adorable - that's why when we hear about baby seals being clubbed we say "Oh no!!!" and not "Yay! Free sealburgers!"

But there's more than that. Specifically, the following three things:

1. Babies are easily excited

It's fun to be around someone who's experiencing something for the first time and is really excited about it. Babies are like that all the time:

2. When babies smile, it means something

I can be somewhat socially oblivious. But even I realize that sometimes when people smile at me, they aren't really smiling.

Babies don't do that. They have so little sense of social decorum (see the vomiting thing) that they never smile just because they're supposed to. If you make a baby smile:

... you know it means something.

3. You don't know what they're thinking

Who knows what goes on in babies' brains? Nobody. Which is a wonderful thing, because then we can project whatever we'd like.

I suspect that if they could talk, we might enjoy them a bit less:

One step closer

Just after hitting send on that last post I got the grade I've been waiting for.

Like they say - Ds get degrees (if they're earned by people who go on to pass enough other courses as well, and who don't change their major every other semester).

Like Ima

Here's Adi's picture that she made just now, "like how you do, ima!"

My 5-year-old is officially a better artist than me.

I like that she made me much thinner than I make myself.

Things that really happened (part 1)

This really happened yesterday!

(The colorful stuff in the lower right hand corner is the pile of clothes that lives near the entrance to our apartment.)

Whoops

Six days ago:

Five days ago:

Yesterday:

Consider Yourself Warned - Q - Quiet

As you can see, we've moved forward by a whole letter. I hope you people are learning.

You probably think you know what I'm going to say about quiet. "Ali," you're thinking, "I've tried to speak to you during daylight hours at some point in the last few years. I know that as a parent, quiet is what you yearn for to the very depths of your soul. I know that quiet is what you must crave like a prisoner craves freedom, like an up-and-coming actress craves fame, like someone who's not starving but is still pretty hungry craves blueberry pie, like dogs crave the smell of other dogs' pee, like tapeworms crave the warm safety of a digestive tract."

You've been paying attention. Bonus points for that. But - not quite right.

No, what I need to tell you about quiet is something different. The thing is, while as a parent you will desire quiet with a fervor usually reserved for romantic pursuits (or for some of you, World of Warcraft), during waking hours, quiet is not your friend. Quiet means that your children have found a way to entertain themselves. And unless you forked out for a new toy within the past 60 minutes, that means they're doing something that you should probably stop.

So yes, you will dream of quiet. I often do.

But when it comes, you will know not peace, but fear.

At that point, you will go looking, and what you find may vary.

Best case scenario - your kids are doing something bizarre but ultimately harmless.

Second best - they're doing something destructive, but not dangerous.

Worse than that - dangerous, but not destructive.

And worst case, as you may have guessed, is Dangerous And Destructive.

Ahh, writing about all this brings back memories. Of course, my brain doesn't have to look too far back - just earlier today I failed to notice Dani going quiet, and two minutes later I found her covered in flour (half a bag of flour for two minutes of quiet isn't such a bad trade, come to think of it. But Dora videos are cheaper).

So that's our lesson for today. Quiet - the modern-day siren, luring you in with her sweet lack of screaming babies, and leaving disaster in her wake. Enjoy your disaster-free silence while you can.