Random

Viggy was concerned this week to hear our 5-year-old telling her 4-year-old sister, "Well, when you're 11, I'll be dead already."

"Why would she say that?" he asked me. I was baffled, too.

So I asked, "Honey, why would you say you'll be dead when she's eleven? You'll only be twelve."

"Oh, I meant when she's 200, I'll be dead," she explained.

Oh, OK. That would do it.
***

One of my children threatened me today, "When I grow up, I'm going to buy my own Ipad - and then I'll never let you use it!"

Poor thing - I couldn't help laughing, and that just made everything so much worse. It's so harsh to be a kid and have your tantrums get no respect. Baby S has it worst in this regard - not only are Viggy and I sometimes helpless not to laugh when she throws a fit, but her sisters sometimes start giggling, too.

(for the record, I barely use the ipad - why should I, when I have successfully taken sole control of the family computer - but I am the mean parent who is constantly saying "no, you're not watching Barbies today, either.")

Reading with a 2-year-old

For comparison's sake...

"S, want to read a book?"

"YAAYY!!! YAY YAY YAY!!!"

"Oh, a Dora book. What a surprise."

"DORA!!!!"

"'Big Sister Dora'"

"DORA!!!!"

"Hola! I'm Dora-"

"DORA!!!"

"Yes, there's Dora on this page, too!

A baby! Si!"

"BACKPACK!!!"

"Yes, she has a backpack."

"DORA!!!!"

"Yes, Dora is on this page, too."

"DORA!!!! THIS!!!"

"Yes, Dora should take that path."

"DORA TWO FOUR!!!!!"

"Yes, Dora needs our help counting the-"

"DORA!!!!"

"Here's Dora running -"

"DORA!! BABY!!!!"

"Yes, here are the babies!"

"DORA!!!!!"

"That's the end."

"MORE DORA!!!!"

"Dora is over now."

"MORE DORA!!!!!!!!!!"

"The book is over!"

(Readers, you'll have to insert the tone of heart-rending despair on your own for this next line):

"DORAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

"Um. OK. Big Sister D-"

"DORA!!!! YAY!!!"

Torah for young children

(The joke, for non-Hebrew-speakers: this is a "Torah for young children" page created by one of my actual, real-life young children. I'm not sure what most of it says, but at the bottom there's what seems to be a list of essential commandments, which reads more or less as follows (English misspellings a translation of Hebrew misspellings):

Keep the Sabbath
Eat politely and nicely
Don't kill god forbad
Being one friend and coperat

I have to say, that does cover a lot (most?) of the important parts)

Reading a book with a four-year-old

"Peanut Butter and Jelly for Shabbos"

"Why is it called 'Peanut Butter and Jelly for Shabbos'?"

"That's just the name of the book, honey."

"But why is it called that?"

"Let's read and find out!"

"Peanut Butter and Jelly for Shabbos

Yossi opened his eyes-"

"Who's Yossi?"

"The boy in the picture is Yossi."

"Why is he Yossi?"

"Because that's a picture of Yossi."

"But why is he called Yossi?"

"Because his Mommy and Daddy decided to call him Yossi."

"What, when he was a baby?"

"Yes, when he was a baby.

"Yossi opened his eyes one cold winter day
Then said 'Modeh Ani' and washed right away."

"Why did they call him Yossi when he was a baby?"

"Everyone gets a name when they're a baby. Mommy and Daddy decided on a name for you when you were a little baby, too."

"Also Moriya and Netanel and Arel and Itai? Their Mommy and Daddy picked a name?"

"Yes, also them.

"'This Friday is special - "

"But what about Netanel T?"

"Yes, also Netanel T. His parents picked his name when he was a baby.

"'This Friday is special,' thought Yossi, 'because... "

"What are 'parents'?"

"The Mommy and Daddy are both called parents."

"Oh"

"'There's a reason...' But he just forgot what it was!"

*page turn*

"Who's that? Is that Yossi?"

"No, that's Laibel."

"Why is that Laibel?"

"Look, this one is Yossi."

"Why is that one Yossi?"

"See, he has the same kippah here and here."

"But Laibel also has the same colors on his kippah."

"Right, but in a different order."

"Oh."

"Then father walked in and called, 'Hey sleepyheads!
It's time to get up; jump out of your beds."

"Who's that?"

"That's the grandfather."

"Why is he the grandfather?"

"Because he's the father of the father. Or the mother."

"But why is he the father of the father or the mother?"

"Because that's what grandfather means.

"Your mother's been gone for three days -"

"Why was she gone for three days?"

"Let's read and find out.

-and we've missed her;
Today she comes home with your new baby sister!"

"Why is she bringing the baby home?"

"Because the baby is part of the family now."

"But why is she coming home?"

"Because that's what happens when there's a new baby. The baby and Mommy are in the hospital for a couple of days, and then they come home."

"So then why didn't you bring me home from the hospital when I was a baby?"

"I did, honey."

"No you didn't."

"Yes I did. You were born, and then a couple days later we went home."

*looks skeptical*

"Look, if I didn't bring you home, then why aren't you still at the hospital?

"I'll pick up - "

"When was I a little baby?"

"Well, you're four, so four years ago."

"Why four years ago?"

"Because that's how time works."

"But when was I zero years old?"

"You were zero when you were first born. Then after one year you were one, and after two years you were two, and now after four years you're four.

"I'll pick up your grandmother-"

"Who's that?"

"That's the Daddy."

"Why is he the Daddy?"

"Because he is."

"Did he give Yossi his name?"

*****

I'll spare you the remaining 100+ pages of dialogue.

Crazy

I had an interesting conversation today with one of my children, who shall remain anonymous to all but those who have met my children and/or have read this blog in the past.

(To really get into the story experience, picture the following: as we talk, said child is on her back on the bed busily kicking my hands, which are held out to catch her feet.)

Me: (Child), N and M say you were hitting them. (to readers: M is a friend)

Child: Yes, I was doing that.

Me: You know that hitting isn't allowed!

Child: But Mommy! I'm insane!

Me: Uh-oh. Why did you go insane?

Child: Because it wasn't fun being not insane.

***

We eventually reached a compromise: she could stay insane, but would have to be insane in a way that did not involve hitting. We even did some brain-storming, and settled on either of the following as an acceptable form of insanity: believing herself to be a giant, man-eating crocodile, or believing herself to be a monster. (But only a good monster. Child: "A good monster is a monster that it hits evil and evil goes home.")

***

Bits of conversation that I overheard on Friday:

A: Stop it! I told you, I'm not a train!!
N: Yes you are!!!


Viggy: You want to call it a chicken? Fine. It's a chicken. Now GET OUT OF THE CHICKEN!!

Dinnertime

A tour around the family dinner table:

The oldest two children enjoy their food.

Like all babies, S knows that food is only truly delicious when someone else is trying to put it into their own mouth.

And here's D, who is -

Uh-oh. D, remember what we said about -

"What have I told you about jumping on Mommy's head during dinner???"

"But you're cute!"

"You need to get off right now."

"But you're so cuuuuuuuuute."

Never listen to the lyrics

I have a confession: I've been listening to (bad) pop music. The reason why is pretty simple: I need to work out, and music with a beat helps that happen.

The thing is, while it always starts well - find song by pop artist so well known that even I've heard of them, play it, run -  at some point I accidentally set the volume too high, or start elliptical-ing too slowly, and before I know it, I've heard some of the lyrics.

And then, what with me being who I am, I can't hear the song again without my inner nerd (who is a separate, nerdier entity than my outer nerd (who is mostly just anti-social to the point of borderline misanthropic, which can easily be mistaken for nerdy by an outside observer)) cringing in horror.

TOP OFFENDERS:

In third place:

Rihanna's "Where have you been all my life."

This song actually isn't so bad. Repetitive, but OK.

One issue, of course, is the trouble in suspending disbelief when Rihanna sings about how she can't find a man to "love me all night long." If Rihanna can't find a man, the rest of us are in trouble.

My main problem with this song, though, is that for a while I kept hearing "Where have you been? / Cause I never see you out / Are you hiding from me, yeah? / Somewhere in the crowd"

as "Are you hiding from me, yeah? / Somewhere in the ground"

And now it always makes me think "noooo, Rihanna! Don't look for love underground! Sure, it sounds all sexy and romantic in my new teen romance about an ordinary girl and the brooding, mysterious zombie who loves her, but in real life it's a terrible idea!"

In second place:

Eminem (with Rihanna) "Love the Way you Lie"

This is a song about how sad it is when terrible, dysfunctional relationships come to an end.

That I could live with.

What I can't live with is Eminem singing "Now you get to watch her leave / Out the window / Guess that's why they call it window pane."

GAAAAAH!!!! NO!!! No, it isn't! Never say that again.

Is it just me, or is that line the lyrical equivalent of nails on a chalkboard? I find it hard to hear the beginning of the song, knowing that line is coming.

Also, this song forced me to face unpleasant truths about myself. Specifically, when I heard this line: "Cause when it's going good / It's going great / I'm Superman / With the wind at his back / She's Lois Lane."

and my immediate response was, "Well that's not a very good comparison. You don't even have to read the comics to know that Superman and Lois Lane have a complex and often difficult relationship."

Now how did I even know that? I don't know, but it disturbs me.

In first place:

Katy Perry's "Firework"

This song makes my sarcastic inner voice start up from the beginning. "Do you ever feel like a plastic bag
Drifting throught the wind / Wanting to start again"

Is that, like, a known inner desire of plastic bags?

"Do you ever feel already buried deep / Six feet under scream / But no one seems to hear a thing"

The good news is that if you do feel this way, you probably won't be feeling this way for very long.

"If you only knew what the future holds / After a hurricane comes a rainbow"

I'm sure that's very comforting to the people who lost their homes and loved ones in the hurricane. Or would be, if it were at all true.

"Like a lightning bolt, your heart will blow"

I'm no doctor, but I'm pretty sure this isn't something to look forward to.

"Boom, boom, boom / Even brighter than the moon, moon, moon"

Even brighter than the moon - an orbiting chunk of rock which gives off zero light of its own.

***

But I shouldn't mock this song. It has a very positive message for young people. No matter how terrible your problems are - whether you're a kid with cancer, or a kid whose parents have awful fights, or are currently being mugged, or if you're gay and afraid how people will take it, or even if you're overweight - there's still hope!  (I tease, but I bet a disturbingly high number of teen girls would prefer one of the other problems to "fat")

The solutions to the above problems, btw, if I understood the Firework video:
- Wander aimlessly around the hospital
- Intervene in your parents' physical fight (what could go wrong?)
- Be a magician (nobody appreciates whimsy like gangs of violent criminals)
- PDA
- Cannonball 

random, again

Adi had a birthday party in school. The party started with the teacher going around the room and various girls expressing their good wishes. Things like:

"I bless you to be happy and have everyone like you."

"I bless you to do lots of mitzvot and be smart and be a teacher."

"I bless you to eat lots of yellow cheese."

One girl's blessing was "that you marry a good guy." Which was pretty funny, because this was a seventh birthday.

The teacher (quietly) joked, "Yes, it's important to start praying for a good husband when you're seven," to which a student who overheard replied, "Nuh-uh! Not until you're eight!!"

****

I love that the first question in the Home Front Command pamphlet about earthquake preparedness is, "How do you know an earthquake is happening?"

Just what I was going to ask first! It's like they read my mind.

****

A genuine parenting tip:

If you want to reprimand your children for their behavior, never start by asking questions you already know the answer to. Like, for instance, "Did you just shove an entire pancake in your mouth?" Because they're only going to either 1. lie very, very badly ("Mphlmmph!") or 2. helpfully physically show you that your suspicions were correct.

****

S got a new toy stroller for her birthday, as planned. The stroller came with us on the walk to daycare, and home from daycare, and over to pick D up from a friend's house, and..... etc.

On the one hand, it helps keep her walking (/running down the street giggling insanely to herself). Well, mostly. The other hand is the times that she decides she's tired of walking, but still can't bring herself to let go of the stroller, so we end up walking down the street looking like this:

Soldiers

Today I was bringing N and D to preschool (gan) - and not looking forward to separating from D, who usually likes her preschool but sometimes decides at the last minute that actually she doesn't - when suddenly we saw soldiers.

Lots and lots of soldiers. Heading into D's gan.

So naturally, this made D eager to get into gan, too. It says something when the addition of dozens of strangers carrying large guns makes a child find preschool more appealing.

Then the rest of the soldiers followed N and I to N's kindergarten. I don't think they were expected. The teacher tried to get the kids to stay focused through the end of what they were doing (I'm not sure what that was, but it involved a guitar), but naturally the fascination of REAL LIVE SOLDIERS YAAAAY was overpowering. Guitar always loses to gun (unless it's a guitar with a gun in it, in which case you not only have a gun but also have the element of surprise).

One of the little boys called out to the soldiers, "I dressed up as a soldier on Purim!"

In the afternoon, when I went to pick N up, I asked her what the soldiers had talked about. "Did they tell you what it's like to be a soldier?"

"A little bit."

"What did they tell you?"

"That they don't use their guns to shoot at each other."

****

Usually it's Viggy who brings the kids to their various preschool/daycare arrangements (it's not due to any laziness on my part, it's just that... oh wait, it actually was the laziness thing). But I've been involved a couple of times this week.

Yesterday I dropped off Baby S (who I should really just call S, since she's nearly 2). She was clinging to me the whole way. As we got closer to her daycare, I started to steel myself for a tantrum at drop off.

She wasn't happy when I put her down outside the daycare. Well, you know, she's young, and she still needs her Mommy, and it's normal for kids to have separation anxiety at such a young age, and... wait, is that juice they're drinking in there? JUICE!! JUICE!!!!!!! MOMMY!! JUICE!!!!

She was at the front door before I'd even rounded the corner.

****

Have I mentioned that N and the other sisters often call S "Reeda"?

Long story short, they became convinced several months ago that S wasn't speaking bad English or Hebrew - she was speaking really good, really fluent S-language, and they just needed to crack the code. The code being, apparently, "replace 90% of consonants with R."

So for the past few months, if we tell S something and she doesn't listen, N will helpfully burst in, "Nooo, you have to say it like this! 'Reeda, rour rou rike ra chocolate rarik?" (chocolate is the same in every language, and has always been a word S reacts well to).

Anyway. I guess it's not uncommon for children to get a funny nickname, even if usually it's the younger child who can't say the older one's name, not the older child convinced that the younger one is speaking an as-yet-unknown dialect. 

The age gap (random)

Today I had to kneel down on the floor to do something. I don't remember exactly what, but I think it involved convincing someone to put underwear back on.

Anyway, since I was down there, naturally a child decided to launch themselves on me, and then another decided that looked fun and joined in, until I had finally said "ow" the magic number of times and they released me.

Then they had to ask the question that I've answered many, many times, but which they still can't get their heads around: how can it be that Mommy is older than Daddy (by a whole year!) but that Daddy is stronger than Mommy?

(Daddy doesn't get all whiny just because he suddenly has 40 pounds of kid on his back. Daddy can carry two girls at once or sometimes even three girls at once. Daddy can even carry girls on the stairs. Not like Mommy, who says things like "my arms are tired" when she's only been carrying you for not even two minutes.)

Whenever they ask this question, I like to bring up the story of Aunt Snan. It is one of N and D's favorite stories. It goes like this: when Mommy and Aunt Snan were little, Mommy was bigger and faster than Aunt Snan because Mommy was older and taller. But then when they got older, Aunt Snan got taller than Mommy and practiced running a lot, and now Aunt Snan is much much faster and stronger than Mommy.

N interjected at this point and said, "Right, like how D is stronger than me!" But I don't think D is really stronger than her just yet - D just knows how to fight. And with very rare exceptions, N does not fight at all.

(I have not yet told the kids the story about how Aunt Snan used to be afraid to hit Mommy, but then when they got older, Aunt Snan realized that now she can beat Mommy up with both hands tied behind her back (an ability she fortunately never had cause to use, as clever Mommy had come to the same realization years earlier...). Maybe I should tell that story, to Adi if to nobody else. Forewarned is forearmed).

****

N is also too honest for her own good. Today Viggy had to tell off N, D, and two of their friends who were walking home from school with us for running too far ahead.

Viggy: It's not OK to run so far ahead that we can't see you. You were so far that you couldn't even hear me telling you to stop!
N: No, we did hear you tell us to stop! But when we heard we just ran faster! *swings her arms happily to pantomime fast running*
(N's friend pulls N in for a huddle)
N: Oh. I mean that we only heard, like, a little of sound. But we didn't know.

****

I had to go to Adi's school today for a meeting with the school counselor over why Adi was missing notebooks from her bookbag earlier in the year. Fortunately, I've learned something since encountering the same problem last year, so instead of saying, "She's usually missing 20% of her school stuff? That's amazing! Man, I'm almost 30 and I'm still usually missing about half my school stuff," I said, "Oh, you're right, yes, of course, I'll be checking her backpack every night."

And when the counselor expressed surprise that Adi sometimes uses a notebook meant for one subject to take notes for a different subject, because "that is not normal for children. Children don't usually do that," I managed not to laugh, or to show her the paper I'd been working on while waiting outside her office - which was covered with a mix of attempts at proofs for math class, the grocery list, and random notes to myself.

(Poor Adi is actually not really like me at all in this regard. It's just that they have about 25 different notebooks, folders and workbooks to keep track of, with different combinations required on different days. I think she's doing very well, considering. Certainly the progress "we've" been making on the issue is more down to her abilities than my own.

OK, she's maybe inherited a teeny tiny bit of my airheadedness tendency to be distracted by more important things. Because when the counselor called her in so that she could see her bookbag, some of the notebooks in it weren't even hers.)

Anyway. Between that and work, my "smile and nod" muscles have been getting quite a workout. Which, I'll admit, they could definitely use. My overdeveloped "open your big mouth and say something 'clever' that will just get you into way more trouble than you're currently in" muscles are usually so quick to respond to any new challenge that the others have been rather neglected.

Reconciliation

First of all, it has to be said - BDE Rabbi Ovadia Yosef. (For my non-Israeli readers: Rabbi Ovadia Yosef was a very, very well-known rabbi who was instrumental in rebuilding the Sephardi - that's Middle Eastern Jewish - religious community after the community's mass resettlement in Israel. He also was a former Chief Rabbi and started the Shas party. And he died this morning.)

I'll leave the eloquent eulogies to people wiser than myself. All I'll say is: Rabbi Yosef had a blunt, tongue-in-cheek style of speaking that meant he was mostly in the international media for saying bizarre-sounding things - but he did truly impressive work in setting up an entire school system, political party and socio-religious movement, he meant a lot to a lot of people (well over half a million people were at his funeral tonight, and that's in a country of under 8 million), and from everything I've heard, in his work here in Israel he was an extraordinarily kind person. Everyone who knew him in daily life, religious or not, Jewish or not, seems to have good things to say.

*****

And now for the story I'd planned for today - the story of my reconciliation with a young child after a fight over shoes.

It's not rare for the issue of shoes to lead to yelling in this house, due to the toxic combination we have here of 1. a rather large number of feet that need shoes each morning 2. a rather messy house (uhh... it's not usually like this! you just caught us at a bad time, is all) and 3. certain of our children who believe that shoes are a symbol of parental tyranny, and who choose to express their inherent right to self-definition by ignoring any request involving footwear.

So today, every child was ready with their shoes, except one (as usual, no points for guessing who). And after the third time that child wandered off to play ponies instead of tracking down her sandals (which were JUST HERE holy crap, how do they lose them so quickly???), I lost it.

What actually happened:

What happened as (apparently) perceived by some involved parties:

So obviously that was upsetting. And lead to traumatized crying rather than shoes being on feet (but it did immobilize the child long enough for me to put her shoes on for her).

As we left the house, I apologized for yelling, and got the following response:

This kid is too clever for her own good. Or maybe just too clever for my good.

Just to be completely clear, that's a request for a personal cell phone as a present for a fourth birthday.

And no, it won't happen, but she probably will get her number-two choice - the much more age-appropriate doll stroller (which will be, like, the twentieth we've bought. Doll strollers, doll clothes and crayons should not really be considered "toys" of the normal variety that you purchase and subsequently own for a substantial period of time - they're more like crackers or ice cream or something. Buy them, enjoy them, don't expect them to be here in two weeks.)

****

Also today:

8 pm: Bake special "healthy cookies" for Viggy, with oatmeal, squishy bananas, cocoa powder and just a pinch of sugar.

9 pm: Find self frantically searching for recipes for unhealthy chocolate cookies. Sometimes "healthy" foods are just a tease. Stupid non-fattening cookies. 

Make it stop

A couple of nights ago, I was talking to my Stistarsnan when she recommended a song. "It's a love song to Pluto from its moon, after they decided Pluto isn't a planet," she explained.

I listened. I enjoyed. And now it WON'T LEAVE MY HEAD. I mean, it's a good song, but enough.

I'm sharing it here in case this is one of those things where if you pass the curse on to other people, it will leave you alone. Also, you all should listen to this song if you haven't already, because it really is a good song. And it's a love song to Pluto from its moon - who could resist?

(the video can mostly be skipped, but try to catch the background pics at 1:25 and 2:30)

Book review - Wuthering Heights

Wuthering Heights (Novel)

The plot: A bunch of extremely reclusive people living on the moors, whatever those are, decide to adopt a random child of unknown origin, then proceed to abuse the hell out of it for the next decade. Unsurprisingly, this does not end well.

Also, there's romance of a sort, to the extent that the pathological dependence between two probably-sociopaths can be called "romance."

What I liked about this book:
- Very vivid, interesting characters and character development.

- It's always nice to see a book that can have a man and woman fall in love without making that the entire point of the story.

- Third and most important - this is the anti-Twilight.

I almost hate to hate on Twilight, because it's just too easy (also, because in my own bizarre way, I enjoyed the movies... ). But it can't be helped, Twilight is now the quintessential "oh dear lord that's a terrible message" popular romance (ending The Little Mermaid's lengthy stay at the top of the list). And Wuthering Heights is the antidote.

In Twilight:
I'm ignoring you = I secretly love you
"I'm dangerous" = "I'm interesting"
"I don't love you" = I really do love you.
"You're not safe with me" = I love you so much I literally couldn't live without you, but I'm willing to sacrifice my happiness to protect you.

In Wuthering Heights:
I'm ignoring you = I dislike you.
"I'm dangerous" = "I'm dangerous"
"I don't love you" = "I don't love you"
"You're not safe with me" = How stupid are you? Look, if you insist on continuing with this, it's going to end with someone getting a knife to the head.

What I didn't like about this book:
People kept dying of "oh hey time to die now" syndrome.

Is it too much to ask that if a character in their 20s has to kick the bucket, it be due to something other than delicate nerves? That's worse than dying from falling down the stairs.

***
Speaking of popular romance novels and Wuthering Heights, finally reading the latter made me appreciate additional creepiness in the former. Specifically, in novels by Cassandra Claire, who seems to enjoy comparing her male leads to Wuthering Heights' Heathcliff. That would be the same Healthcliff who is horribly abusive to his wife, deliberately warps children's minds, dedicates his life to revenge, kidnaps and abuses his dead love's daughter, plots a murder-suicide...

And, for the record, the book doesn't even describe him as particularly attractive.  There is really not one reason to compare your romantic male lead to "Heathcliff on the moors" unless it's in the context of him stabbing a puppy or something.

My score (for Wuthering Heights, not Cassandra Claire's books):
4.5 out of 5 stars. 

9:50 pm at the Ali residence

... and three kids are finally asleep, and one kid is bouncing on the bed singing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" (loudly, with the wrong lyrics) and clapping, while completely naked.

No points for guessing who.

Viggy: "D, it's time to go to bed."
D: "But I'm doing somersaults!" *somersaults* "Wheeeeeee" *somersault* "Wheeeee!"

***

Also, trying to get D and N both ready to go out to the park at the same time is pretty funny, when it's Viggy doing it and not me.

"Kids, go get dressed."
N goes into the bedroom and comes back with a shirt on but no skirt, D disappears into the bedroom.
"Kids, I said get dressed."
N goes into the bedroom and comes out with a skirt but no shirt on anymore, D comes out with a tshirt - and nothing else - on.
"We're not going to the park if you aren't dressed! Come on, don't you want to go to the park?"
N goes back into the bedroom, and comes out in just underwear and shoes. D starts jumping on the couch.
"Your sisters are ready. This isn't fair to them."
N goes back into the bedroom, and comes out with underwear, shoes, and a dress of Adi's that's three sizes too big. D hides under a sheet.

Etc.

Fun times (In the end, I took the kids to the park for all of 40 minutes before they decided they were hungry and we came home. Viggy and the kids never made it to the park today. But they got to watch a Curious George video after dinner and eat marshmallows for dessert, so today was a good day from their perspective.)

more random

A conversation I overheard between my two older children. The background - child 2 did not want to take a bath, even though Viggy had told her to.

Child 1: It's right after Yom Kippur and you have to honor your father and mother! So if Daddy says to take a bath you have to take a bath.
Child 2: But I don't want to!
Child 1: But you have to listen to your father!
Child 2: But D is going to bother me.
Child 1: So there are a couple things you could do. You could ignore her, or you could tell Daddy to make her stop.
Child 2: OK, I'll do that.

At this point I peeked around the corner, only to find that this calm, relatively mature conversation was taking place like this:

Ahh, stistarly love.

****

Has anyone else noticed that their kids' questions tend to be either really obvious, or completely incomprehensible?

Today a child came into the kitchen holding a box of cookies. "Mommy, listen!" she ordered, shaking the box, which made a rattling noise. "What do you think is making that noise?"
"I think it's the cookies, honey," I told her.
"Wow! How did you know?" she wanted to know.

A minute later, the same kid comes back. "Mommy, what was that pink thing that we liked to eat?"
Uhhh.... (the answer, by the way, was coleslaw. Now why didn't you think of that?)

****

Another question I got today:
Child (holds up skirt): Mommy, what is this?
Me: What do you think it is, honey?
Child (thinks for a minute): ...I think that you think that it's a skirt.

****

Did I ever tell you about our trip to the zoo?

So after we went to the local zoo, I asked each of the girls what their favorite animal was that we had seen.

A most liked the baby chickens and "the ones with the stripes" - aka lemurs.

N most liked the pigs. (Toward the end of our zoo trip Adi had started crying at the thought of seeing one last exhibit, so we said we would go, so then N started crying at the thought of not seeing that one last exhibit - so I ran with her and D over to see the pigs while everyone else headed to the exit, and then we ran back to meet them there. And she liked them best - I guess it's true that you most appreciate what you work for.)

They were very impressive pigs, too. Boars, really. Enormous.

D most liked "the lions. And the bears. All the ones that said RAAAAAWRRR!!!" Like the tigers? "Yes, also the tigers. And the pigs."
"Pigs don't say roar, honey. Pigs say oink."
"NO THAT'S NOT TRUE PIGS SAY RAAWWWWWRRRR!!!!!"
"Okay."

Stupidest interview ever

So a couple of months ago, my city started advertising an exciting scholarship for students for the upcoming year. It's the same basic idea as the Perach program - which involves volunteering 4 hours a week in exchange for a "scholarship" that's basically a salary for the work - but with this program, you could design your own volunteer project. 

The only catch was that it had to be something to do with youth - with "youth" being defined as anyone age 18-40. So not that much of a catch, really.

Luckily for me, I didn't really need the money; I have a job that pays about the same as the scholarship would, so I could just take extra hours instead. But hey, wouldn't it be cool to be paid to do things that are good for the community? Things I've been wanting to do anyway?

So I wrote up a proposal, and sent it in. One part of the proposal involved organization volunteer activities that would be suitable for teens as well as adults; the rest were all about project to benefit adult immigrants. They replied that my ideas are "nice ideas and important," and invited me for an interview.

Spoiler: this became the Stupidest Interview Ever.

(Note: I sometimes get embarrassed/nervous when talking to people. Obviously this applies to public speaking, but really, it can happen in any setting where any number of people (including "one") are looking at me while I speak. This happens x 10 when I'm trying to speak any language other than English.

When I get nervous, I babble.)

THE INTERVIEW:

Them: So tell us about why you're interested in this?

Me: Um, so I've been living here, and, you know, I've seen things that need to be done... (launches into explanation of project I'm interested in that becomes increasingly incoherent as the looks on the faces of the two women staring at me get funnier).

Them: Umm, that's nice. But maybe tell us why you're qualified to work with youth ages 12 to 18. What experience do you have with that?

Me: Uhhh... none, really.

Them: But what makes you want to work with teenagers?

Me (thinking): Nothing! 

Me (aloud): .... I wasn't really planning to work with teenagers.

Them: *stares*

Me: *confused*

Them: We're really looking for people to work with teenagers. 

Me: Didn't you say you were looking for projects for adults up to age 40?

Them: Right, but things changed, and the funding something something, so now we're looking for people to work with teenagers.

Me: Um. You know there really aren't many teenagers who I could involved in a project here. There's, like, no schools in this neighborhood. (rambles for a minute about why neighborhood has few teens, sounding - probably - increasingly racist as I note the lack of non-Russian-speaking schools). 

So yeah. I only know, like, five teenagers, I don't think that would be enough.

Them: Well, we're really looking for people to join existing projects with teenagers.

Me: Like what?

Them: Like, you could go to local schools and teach the teenagers about health.

Me: I don't really know any more about health than anyone else.

Them: That's OK, you'd read about it first.

Me (thinking): I would rather be waterboarded than stand in front of 30-something teens and talk - in Hebrew, no less - about "health," which is almost certainly a euphemism for "proper condom use."

(still thinking) ... and why the hell would 15-year-olds not just read about health themselves? Seriously, they're in high school! They probably read faster than I do. 

Me (aloud): I don't think that activity would suit me.

Them: *pitying stare*

Me: So... look, I know it's not your fault the criteria for the scholarship changed. This isn't the first time something like this has happened, where the criteria change in the middle. But - are you telling people that you need people to work with teens, not adults? Because I have friends who've also applied for this, and I'm pretty sure they have no idea. 

(note - this is the most fluent thing I've said so far, as my Hebrew gets better in every way the more annoyed I am.)

Them: Oh, well some people will still be working with adults. It's just that the interviews today are with people who wanted to work with teens.

Me: People who... wanted to work with teens.

Them: Right.

Me: I'm pretty sure I didn't say anything about wanting to work with teens. I mean (smiling in a hopefully non-insane way), not that I have anything against teens, of course 

(note: this is mostly true. Perhaps bizarrely, I've found teens increasingly more interesting and less intimidating in the years since I stopped being one myself. And if you're reading this, I thought you were cool as a teenager. Really! But there are still several other populations I'd find it easier to work with, like the elderly, or mentally ill homeless people, or prison inmates.)

but I know that most projects with teens just don't fit my schedule.

Them: *pitying noises*

Me: So - can I, like, switch to the track for working with adults?

Them: No, the interviews today are only for working with teens.

Me: ... But I don't want to work with teens.

Them: But today's interviews are only for working with teens, and you were scheduled for today.

Me (thinking): Do I want to work under these people's supervision for the next several months of my life?

Me (aloud): OK, well, thanks for your time. No big deal. (Further inane statements about how this is totally fine).

Me: *exits, but not before coming within a centimeter of walking face-first into a wall*

****

OK, "stupidest ever" might be overly dramatic. The whole process was definitely the biggest waste of my time in a while, though (unless you could a dual major in math and political science). 

But... let's think again about that project they offered me. I think "stupidest ever" might have been right on.

 

Seriously, pity the poor high school students of [My City]. Someone, somewhere, thought, "How can we best teach our students about health, by which I mean sex ed," and decided a good candidate to teach them would be:

1. An immigrant with so-so spoken Hebrew

2. and zero public speaking skills

3. who has no background in the subject whatsoever, unless you could listening to my ninth-grade health teacher talk about the one time he drank the funny tea at a concert and thought dogs were chasing him for a day and it was really scary, man, or watching the same teacher cram his entire forearm into a condom and say, "See! IT FITS!!! He's LYING!!"

4. is an orthodox Jew who's been pregnant five times in 7.5 years. Seriously? THAT'S who you want to teach teens about birth control? 

Or was I supposed to be a cautionary tale?

Of course, there's always a chance that I'm assuming too much, and that "health" just meant "proper nutrition and exercise." In which case the idea of me teaching "health" is still a sad joke, as I believe the 5 major food groups are, in order of importance: 1. caffeine, 2.  pizza, 3. whipped cream, 4. bananas, 5. alcohol (the ideal meal, health-wise, is a slice of pizza and Irish Cream Shake at the local mall (there should be vegetables on the pizza - I'm not that stupid)), and my only background in sports is from high school gym class, which, come to think of it, I never attended. 

But at least if "health" just means "health," it's less creepy that the person who will end up doing the project is the kind of person who would want to talk to teenagers about that kind of thing. 

Anyway. I believe it will be for the best that I am scholarship-free. With no mandatory 4 hours a week of volunteering, I'll either have extra time for math (which I can say with roughly 100% certainty is going to be necessary), or I can work on my other money-making ventures, by which I mean my romance novel starring a religious Jewish clown who's also a serial killer. 

(I had to make him Jewish. I mean, write what you know, right?)

Random

A child explains her favorite character:

Child: "She always wears blue, and she has brown hair, and her voice is really pretty and... and sound-y. Not too loud and not too little."

********

A child uses her newly acquired English skills to tell me something important at the mall.

Child: Mommy, I forgot the Pope!
Me: What, honey?
Child: I still need the Pope!
Me: Could you say that one more time?
Child: I need Pope Ning!
Me: Who?.... Ohhhhhhh
(we rush back to the bathroom)

******

ילדה: אמא, את רוצה לשמוע משהו על אלול?

אני: כן, בטח.

ילדה: אלול זה אומר, אני לדודי ו... ודודי לי.

אני: נכון מאוד! ומה זאת אומרת?

ילדה: אלול!

אני: לא, מה זאת אומרת ה"אני לדודי ודודי לי"

ילדה: שאני נותנת משהו לדודים שלי, וגם הם נותנים לי דברים.

*****

An adult who shall remain unnamed, after watching the first 30 minutes of a certain hit movie with me:

Adult: Well that movie certainly has a misleading title. That made me more miserable, not less!

...

Also, my rendition of myself and significant other watching said movie:

Post 156: In which a university foolishly agrees to take me on

Exciting news (for me): my request for a previously non-approved double major has been accepted! Apparently the committee that decides these things was more convinced by my explanation of why math and political science totally go together than I was.

So now I am officially majoring in math, political science, and international relations (they threw that last one in for free).

Just to make it perfectly clear - no, I didn't get my degree. Come on, I'm only 30. I got approved for a major, the degree will be (hopefully) in another three years or so.

And now to explain why I'm majoring (in part) in math, despite whining about it constantly whenever I'm in a math course:

So for one thing, I should explain that despite all of my whining about how hard it is and how I'm going to fail everything and how it's totally not fair that they expect me to prove things without telling me how first, my grades in math actually haven't been that bad so far. I'm averaging a 85, which isn't genius-level great, but is definitely above average (as measured based on the grade distribution in the specific classes I took, for the semester I took them).

(No, I'm not counting Java. Java is computer science, not math. Java is also a terrible course that can go do horribly perverse anatomically impossible things to itself. It DOES NOT COUNT.

Anyway.)

I'm not sure if the fact that I've received above-average scores so far says something good about me, or something really bad about Open U.

(But seriously, none of my grades have been in advanced-level courses, so far. Once I get into those courses, I have a feeling "top 50%" will be a major challenge. Heck, "top 90%" will probably be a challenge.)
(Also, the salting the coffee three times thing was totally reasonable. It was early (before eight!), I was very tired, and I couldn't even drink coffee to wake me up because some moron kept putting in salt instead of sugar.)

The second and more important reason is Ali's Theory of Decision-Making (and no, I'm not going to prove this theory. I have to save my "proving things" energy for math now, so everything I say for the next two semesters that isn't about math is going to be in the form of unsubstantiated declarations).

The theory is basically this: commit only to those things you find yourself unable to part with.

So for example, how do you know who to marry? Marry the person who makes the thought of not staying together for life scarier than the thought of committing for that long (hi Viggy!).

How do you know where to live? See which place you most want to come back to again and again (and can afford to live in. Which might be two totally different places. So bad example).

How do you know what to major in? Well, when you find yourself registering for math courses over and over despite the pain - you know what to do.

I realize that this theory would support, say, heroin addiction as a more reasonable choice than, say, exercise and a healthy diet. What can you do, no theory is perfect. 

Movie review: The Host

The Host is the latest movie based on a Stephanie Meyer book (the first 17 were Twilight films).

I should probably explain the book first:

In case there’s anyone out there who hasn’t read The Host (if one can imagine such a deprived, literature-starved soul), it’s about a future in which aliens have conquered humanity by slowly and steadily attaching one of themselves to each human and taking control of his or her brain. The aliens live in perfect peace and harmony with each other, but their presence in a body obliterates the mind of the human whose body they have taken.

So obviously there’s a complex moral dilemma there regarding the balance of obtaining utopia against the loss of free will, and there’s the drama of watching the last days of the catastrophic end of the human race, all of which is basically ignored for the sake of watching one girl try to choose between two guys. Except that in this case there’s a real twist – the one girl is actually two girls: both Wanderer, the alien who has been inserted into a human body, and Melanie, the human girl whose body it is, and whose mind has not been erased by the insertion because she’s special.

So there’s like a love triangle… quadrangle?... between Melanie, her boyfriend Jared, Wanderer, who loves Jared because Melanie does, but also likes Ian, and Ian, who suddenly decides he’s in love with Wanderer after trying to kill her earlier in the book, because something something.

In the end everyone gets what they wanted (“everyone” meaning the cute teen leads. Not the rest of humanity, which is still more or less screwed). This is a Stephanie Meyer story, after all, not Margaret Atwood.

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

Obviously, it’s hard for a movie to do a story like that justice. But I have to say, the The Host movie was even better than I expected.

The movie was clearly influenced by the Twilight movies, in that all emotions are expressed through staring, and only through staring. I think the script for the whole film was probably three pages long.

But it’s not like staring and sporadic stilted dialog is all that happens – the human characters are, after all, fighting for their lives. So we also have the thrill of watching them do critical, life-and-death tasks like harvesting wheat and driving trucks.

It turns out real survival isn't very interesting.

Fortunately, this movie, while inspired by Twilight, improved on the Twilight films in two major ways:

1.      Instead of taking away perfectly good action scenes like the Twilight movies did (werewolves fighting vampires had so much potential), The Host adds in action scenes that never existed in the book. (It does this primarily by making the characters mouth-breathingly stupid enough to drive right in and out of their super-secret hideout in broad daylight, leading to a couple of car chase scenes. If you can call a scene with three minutes of stares and ten seconds of driving a car chase.)

2.      The Twilight series' actors struggled, to put it mildly, to portray the passionate emotions they were supposed to be feeling. 

In The Host, many characters have been hijacked by peaceable alien beings with no strong emotions – meaning the actors’ abilities are right in line with what the script demands from them.

But the movie had a few flaws, some minor and one major.

The minor: while the movie took care to help viewers keep Wanderer apart from Melanie by giving the latter a thick southern accent, no similar care was taken to help viewers tell the virtually identical, generically handsome male leads apart. Technically, the two of them weren’t played by the same actor, like Melanie/Wanderer was (or so the credits would have you believe) – but it still got confusing (wait - is that guy kissing her the one who tried to strangle her, or the one who wanted to shoot her? Because one of those two things is totally normal, but the other would just be weird).

The major: they skipped the best line in the book! (Note to Snan: I got this line a little wrong before).

How can you have a four-way alien/ human victim/ boyfriend/ other human love… thing… without the following line: “No. I – I love you too. Me, the little silver worm in the back of her head”?? (that’s a real line from the book, for the record).

Also missing (another real line): “I held you in my hand, Wanderer. And you were so beautiful.”

My overall rating:

If watched alone or with normal people: 2 out of 5 stars.

If watched with Snan and her cool friend Whitney: ALL OF THE STARS.

Book re-review: You Can Count!

Readers, I am a generally awesome and infallible person. But sometimes even I make mistakes.

Three months ago (four? six? How long ago was March?) I gave the book You Can Count, a book in which Barney and his friends walk around aimlessly and there are also numbers, a mere 2.5 out of 5 stars.

I need to go back to earlier tonight for this next part to make sense.

So earlier tonight I was innocently brushing my teeth, when suddenly I came under attack! By a vicious wild cockroach! Which admittedly didn't actually touch me, and was actually moving pretty slowly, but it clearly had evil intent.

So of course I reacted with my usual bravery and said (OK, squealed), "Snan, there's a cockroach!! Augghhhh, it's coming for me! KILL IT!" (Oh yeah, did I mention that my stistar Snan is here? Because she is.)

So then Snan was like, "So step on it," and I was like, "I can't step on it! They're so fast! And crunchy," and then she was like, "hahahaha," and I was like, "crap crap crap it's still coming!" and then I super fast RAN OUT AND ESCAPED and then GRABBED THE POISON and started spraying, at which point Snan started laughing harder, and then I was like, "Why is it not dying????" and she was like, "Try spraying it from inside the same room," so I did, because I'm just that daring, but then she was like, "That's still not close enough, get closer," and I did, and she was still like, "Closer, it's not going to jump on you from that distance," but I'm not so easy to fool and I knew that once she'd said it couldn't jump that far it would totally jump that far right away just to prove her wrong.

So then I said, "I don't need to spray it anymore, I sprayed it like four times," and then Snan got bored of laughing at me and picked up our copy of You Can Count and just squished it.

And then she told me to clean it up so that Mom won't find it tomorrow morning and get all grossed out, but I thought it would be better to just leave a note saying "WARNING: DEAD COCKROACH UNDER THIS BOOK."

Eventually we agreed to trade cockroach removal for a back rub.

Anyway, my point is, You Can Count totally deserved at least five out of five stars. I don't know why I didn't see it before. VERY valuable book.

Things D says

Things D has said to me in the last couple of days..

D: I don't want to go to sleep now. I'll go to sleep in another two days, OK?

**
Me: D!! That was very dangerous! You know you can't cross the parking lot alone without asking me!
D (all wide-eyed innocence): But Mommy, I did ask!
Me: You have to ask me and I have to say yes!
D: Ohhh.

**

Me: D, what are you doing out of bed?
D: NO!!!!

Why I'm so boring lately

I fell behind on studying, and it's taking forever to catch up. Probably something to do with how summer vacation is only a vacation if you're a child. And maybe with my own ability to focus (I've started keeping a "done" list to match my "to do" lists; today wasn't the first day that about half an hour was marked as "? not sure." To be clear, I'm not saying I only spend half an hour not being productive - I'm saying I spent at least half an hour doing something that, a mere 40 minutes later, I could not recall in the slightest (staring at the wall? alien abduction?)).

So yeah. That's my excuse for not posting. If you read this blog (hi mom!), I suggest you stop until mid-August; I'm not really anticipating new posts between now and then. (Of course, it could be that as my next test approaches, the Procrastination lobe of my brain will fully engage, and there will be wonderfully creative new posts here. Or more likely, new book reviews of teen fiction that nobody could possibly have expected to be anything but bad.)

But in the meantime, I'll leave you with a conversation between two children, who I will call OC (older child) and YC for their own protection.

YC: Mommy, they're not letting me play!
OC: Yes we are! (To YC) I said you could be the boy fairies. [note: from Tinkerbell]
YC: I don't want to be the boy fairies.
OC: OK, you can be Spike. [note: from My Little Pony, Friendship is Magic IT'S BEEN A LONG FOUR WEEKS DON'T JUDGE ME]
YC:  OK, I'll be Spike.
OC: Spike is sleeping now. 

The things I find myself saying...

"Honey, remember what we said about nice words, and not-nice words? It's important to find a nice way to say things, not to use words that could hurt someone's feelings. So let's think - what might be some nicer words to use than 'move now or I'll poop on your face'?"

Airlines - Comparing Levels of Suck

Hello again readers,

It's been a while. I recently took a trip, during which I gathered valuable new parenting experience, plus renewed appreciation for old principles, such as "never store your glassware fewer than six feet above the floor."

But more relevant to this post, I also learned about the various airlines available for transporting people to and from our lovely country. I'll rate them below for your convenience.

American Airlines:

The good - American Airlines has the perkiest group of workers I've ever seen trapped together at 40,000 feet subject to the whims of several hundred exhausted, stressed-out travelers who passed the "I hate the world and everything in it" stage about two hours ago.

An American Airlines staffer came by about every half hour to offer food, or drinks, or more drinks, or garbage disposal. And they smiled like they really meant it (as opposed to the usual airline staffer smile, which is more like, "My job requires me to pretend I don't hate you. Screw with me, and I'll make sure you're in front of the two most colicky babies aboard for the rest of your flight.")

The bad - No mini-television sets on the back of the seat in front. American Airlines, who cares about getting a third cup of orange juice in a timely fashion when their school-age child is going into hour eight of an international flight with no television??? As if any beverage makes hearing "but NOW are we landing?" for the 5,000th time any easier (OK, vodka might have, but they didn't offer me any).

To be fair, they did have TV sets along the ceilings, one every few rows. On the other hand, they were broadcasting the most non-child-friendly content I've seen outside Game of Thrones. I couldn't hear the movie (no point paying $5 for a headset when your child is just going to yank it out of your ears, the better for you to hear them ask, "but NOW??"), but it was hard not to notice the part where the female lead's ex attempted to murder her and their child by burning their house down.

Overall rating: B - 

British Airways:

The good - TV sets! With children's programming, and with a variety of decent movies for adults (the Hobbit, Les Miserables, etc). Yay!!

The bad - I realize the whole kosher food thing can be complicated, but it was kind of absurd getting a super-kosher breakfast complete with dairy products in which the entree was (glatt kosher!) chicken stir-fry.

An explanation for readers not familiar with the ins and outs of Jew-Food: many of the rules about keeping food kosher involve completely separating milk and meat. True, chicken wasn't originally considered "meat," but it's been in the "meat" category for at least 1,500 years now. Serving it next to butter and cream is a fairly big kosher no-no.

So that was funny. Not a big deal, but amusing.

But where they really lost points was with beverage choice. I appreciate your British pride, British Airways, but offering tea as the only caffeinated beverage is taking it way too far. I have it on good authority that even British people can prefer coffee.

To be fair, they did offer diet coke toward the end of the flight. But that was several hours too late for me to avoid entering a no-caffeine funk (and no, drinking the disgusting leaf-water more commonly known as tea was not an option). Plus, it turns out that their diet coke is terrible for some reason. Maybe it's the British version?

Overall rating: B +


El Al:

The good - TV sets again! At least on the flight back. Also, staff were genuinely friendly, if less frequently seen patrolling the aisles than the American Airlines set.

Also, I was most frequently offered coffee on El Al, which gives it a few extra points in my book.

The bad - Four things:

* No TVs on the flight out.

* Terrible pre-flight ad consisting of various El Al staffers talking about how El Al is like a home. Or maybe how Israel is like a home? Either way, the most disturbing part was when the guy signaling to the plane turns around mid-signal to explain why Israel (El Al?) is like home. Really, El Al, could you not think of a better ad to show immediately pre-flight than one showing your staff pausing in the middle of critical, life-and-death tasks in order to blather? That disturbs me.

(The ad ended with "home is where I know that everything will be OK." So I guess not talking about Israel, then.)

* Staff allowed several groups of British teenagers coming to Israel with Zionist youth groups to board the plane, and then stubbornly refused to drug their beverages.

Seriously, that was the noisiest flight I've ever been on, ever, by a long shot - and it was from 11:30 pm to 5:15 am. The various groups settled down somewhat at around 3 a.m., by which I mean that they stopped shouting to each other across the plane and talking loudly in large groups, and shifted to talking at a normal decibel level in small groups. Until we started landing, at which point the same moron who had shouted "Get me off this plane!!" repeatedly during takeoff starting shouting things like, "We're going to crash!" and "Guys it's totally like Final Destination!"

I'm not sure what was worse - spending an overnight flight feeling like I was being repeatedly stabbed in the eardrums, or the dawning realization that I'm now the person glaring at all the self-centered, hormonal young people who insist on having fun instead of sitting quietly, which makes me officially Old.

* Beverage service stopped about halfway through because the flight got all shaky. What's the point of Jews controlling the weather if there's so much turbulence on an El Al flight to Israel that I can't get my diet coke??

Oh, and I forgot one:

* They put me in the bulkhead row because I was traveling with a baby - even though my baby was too big to get a bulkhead-row bassinet. So basically, out of consideration for the difficulties involved in traveling with young children, they gave me one of the very few seats with no room on the floor for bags, no personal TV, a huge TV showing flight progress on an endless loop glaring directly into my eyeballs, and a tray table that could only be used by a person who isn't holding a sleeping toddler on their lap. Uh - thanks?

I did enjoy the extra leg room.

Overall rating: C + 

Another semester ends

How I felt after finishing my finals:

How I actually looked after finishing my finals:

and five seconds later:

and five minutes later, after checking the degree requirements to see how close I am to finishing:

Changes

Sometimes kids seem to grow up almost by stealth. For months, you go along thinking you have a toddler, and then one day you look over and realize that somewhere along the line your child morphed into a preschooler and come to think of it you can't think how long it's been since you had to have the "drawing is only on paper" talk or the "some words are bathroom words" talk or the "GET THAT OUT OF YOUR MOUTH THIS SECOND" talk.

And then sometimes, it happens more quickly.

This morning when I first picked up Baby S to change her diaper, she felt at least three pounds heavier than yesterday. I know that sounds crazy, but it's true (and no, it's not just my muscles dying slowly of disuse - that's happening too, but too slowly to be the issue here).

By this evening, she had:

- Poured a bowl of cereal on the floor.

- Stood on a chair methodically taking all but two eggs out of the container of eggs Viggy had just brought home and breaking them (and when I came back in the room - this whole thing took, seriously, about a minute - her reaction was to point, smile proudly, and say "Bee-bee!").

- Crept up behind Adi and N as they were laying side-by-side on the couch reading (awww) and, grinning fiendishly, used one hand each to pull both of their ponytails at the same time. Repeatedly.

- Taken off her own diaper four times.

- Unraveled most of a spool of dental floss.


I think I officially have to stop calling her Baby S, and start calling her Toddler S or something.

In retrospect I maybe should have seen this day coming. She did draw on one of my library books last week (fortunately, it was by Neil Gaiman - if I have to be stuck buying a book off the library, I'm glad it's at least one I wouldn't have minded buying anyway), and she's been getting extremely picky about what clothes she wants to wear (she doesn't have the words yet to tell us which clothes she wants, but you can tell she wants the pink dress when you try to put on the yellow dress and she starts kicking it away while yelling "daidaidaidaidai").

And just in time for us all to spend a whole summer together, too. I'm not worried, though. Toddlers are fun, as long as you keep them away from the scissors and off the windowsill and away from the markers and from the bathtub, and remember to tape their diapers on. It's a lot of fun, really.

And the eggs. Keep them away from the eggs.

Storytime - Adi

A conversation that Adi recently had with our neighbor G, as related by G.

I should mention up front that G has taken Adi to school on the bus with her daughter pretty much every morning this year, and that Adi and her daughter are friends, and that G is a very nice person.

G: Adi, how much do you like me?
A: Not much.
G: I take you to school every day, and you say you don't like me much?
A: Right, not much.
G: I was going to get you some chocolate milk, you know.
A: Oh. OK, so ask me again.
G: Adi, how much do you like me?
A: On a scale from one to ten, I'd give you a seven.
G: Only a seven?
A: OK, an eight.
G: Eight's not high enough.
A: OK, a nine.
G: Nine's not high enough.
A: OK, now you're at zero.

A question for my atheist readers

I have a question. I realize it's virtually impossible not to cause offense - but I'm really curious, so I'm going to go ahead and ask anyway.

OK.

What is it with atheists and online comment sections?

Let me explain.

I would have thought that out of all of the obnoxious comments people make online about why anyone with a brain should believe this-or-that, the overwhelming majority would be coming from people who belong to a religion that emphasizes actively seeking converts.

And yet, for every comment like this: "That is why our once proud Nation is sinking we have no faith anymore, other faiths are given precedence over our faith, Christianity." (Not from an Israeli paper, obviously)

I see, like, twenty like this: "It's over. There is no EVIDENCE for any god(s) and certainly no EVIDENCE for any life after this one. Time to grow up. Fantasy Island is bankrupt. Reality is not that scary." or this more concise version, "Ha ha ha ha...Religion!"

And I'm not talking about just one paper here, or one day - this is a pattern I've seen in pretty much every comment section that isn't explicitly religious (eg, in Ynet, not Kikar Hashabat), for a few months now.

I understand that atheists, like any group of people with any kind of belief, think they are right, and enjoy it when others agree with them. But... shouldn't they be, like, 50th in line when it comes to pushing their views on others? They have no reason to expect spiritual brownie points for making an effort to convert the masses (to the extent that calling one's intellectual opponents brainless imbeciles can be considered an effort); that directly follows from literally the only universal tenet of atheism.

I was trying to come up with philosophies that would make less sense at the top of the comment-section-proselytizing list, and I could only think of a couple.

Agnostics - it would be pretty funny if there were huge groups of people going around and writing things like, "I don't know what I believe, and neither should you!!"

Druze, Scientologists, etc - Any faith where major tenets are only revealed to insiders. It would amuse me to see dozens of posts each day along the lines of, "I can't believe you people are dumb enough to believe that. It's so obvious that the real truth is [redacted], so there."

Anyway. I did have one theory - that people who believe in religions that proselytize tend to believe the consequence of failing to convince another person of the rightness of their faith is that God makes the other person's afterlife worse, whereas atheists believe the consequence of failing to convince others of the rightness of their faith is that other people make their life-life worse.

And when it comes down to it, almost everyone finds their own here-and-now much more motivating than someone else's afterlife, whatever their beliefs.

The flaw in that theory is that there are plenty of religious people who think secularism/modern liberalism/feminism/whatever threatens their current way of life. But - maybe those people don't have internet? Or if they do, are too busy over on WND to post comments to articles in more mainstream news outlets?

So... yeah. That was a long question. And hopefully not too offensive.

I honestly would like to hear an explanation for this (are there more "converts," with all the new-found enthusiasm for sharing one's beliefs that often goes along with that, to atheism than in the other direction? are there atheist groups that do actively proselytize? is it mostly just one angry atheist guy with nothing else to do? etc). Ever since I first noticed, I've been noticing more and more, to the point where when I see a "stoooopid religious people" comment I find myself wishing I knew the person's phone number so I could call and ask, "you, of all people, why do you care?? I get why the Christian guy cares, but what's your story?"

I spent the morning in my kids' gan (preschool) earlier this week.

Oh my goodness. It was like a prison yard scene from a B movie. Except that they didn't give us guards any tear gas to keep things under control.

I should note that the much-adored Ganenet was not there, which is why I was there - they needed two parent volunteers so that the assistants would be legally allowed to keep the gan open in her absence. So hopefully things are better under her watch.

***

In related news, I had a realization regarding labels for kids.

I always found it strange that there are these super-generic disorders for kids. Like, Oppositional Defiance Disorder, which has symptoms like "Actively refuses to comply with majority's requests or consensus-supported rules," and "Performs actions deliberately to annoy others." Literally every symptom I've seen for that one could easily describe 100% of toddlers. So why not narrow the definition of "disorder" a bit to something less uselessly vague?

But now I get it. These are the your-child-seems-to-be-possessed disorders. These are the labels you can use when help is desperately needed for reasons that can't be described in a sufficiently professional way.

There's no technical term for "Your child is sweet and cute and smart and fun, it's just that 50% of the time she appears to be channeling the spirits of the greater demons." So you call it ODD or something else that's vague enough to apply to any poorly behaved child, yet professional-sounding enough that the state will cough up extra money for treatment.

There are a couple of kids in my kids' gan who I believe could use an ODD diagnosis or two.

***

I don't want to give the impression that D is constantly running around naked and using bad language or anything. It's really only like ten percent of the time. Usually she's only half-naked, and is more interested in ferreting out hidden ice pops than in expanding her younger sister's vocabulary in bad directions.

But that said, I have another Dani story to share.

This one takes place as D's friend M is visiting. M comes here once a week when her mom works late, and not infrequently spends her first twenty minutes or so here upset that her mom isn't here, a feeling she expresses by sitting on the couch boycotting the fun.

So M was sitting on the couch not playing.

N: M, do you want to come play with us?
M: No!
N: We're playing babies.
M: No!
D (sympathetically): M, do you want to say bad words with me? Like poopy, peepee, penis?

That whole army thing

So the more I think about the attempts to get hareidi men to enlist in the army, the more I don't understand how this is supposed to work, exactly.

One idea is economic disincentives not to serve. Which could be effective. Except that the other big issue people/the government have/has with hareidim is that so many of them are under the poverty line due to lifestyle choices. Meaning economic disincentives are 1. unlikely to work and 2. a step in the wrong direction.

I'm going to assume that keeping 90% of hareidi men ages 18-22 in jail isn't an option. (Inhumane.)

I'm going to assume that creating army teams of three - two hareidi guys to guard, one non-hareidi guy to shoot them if they try to run away - is also not an option. (Not cost-effective.)

But on the other hand, having two different laws for two different groups of people is also not going to work. Unless they're Israeli Arabs, who also don't have to enlist, but let's not go there.

So. I like MK Elazar Stern's idea - make anyone who doesn't enlist pay. People who don't do army pay higher taxes for a while.

It's not quite an economic disincentive, since it improves the current economic situation by allowing those who choose not to serve to join the workforce immediately, rather than wait until they age out of the system.

And it lets everyone feel like they're a part of things. People who can't serve in the army for whatever reason can still feel proud knowing they've helped. Every time the IDF uses Iron Dome to shoot down a $15-dollar rocket instead of just shooting the guys trying to fire it in the heads, they (the non-soldier tax-payers) will have the warm fuzzy feeling of knowing that the taxes they paid that year covered 1/200th of that.

The only question is what to do if people refuse to either join the army or join the workforce.

Which is basically the dilemma we're currently in.

So, not really a solution.

But other than that, a good plan.

I have a really good reason for not updating my blog this time: I am an imbecile.

So what was it this time, you ask?

This time, I somehow got it into my head that my final paper in one course would be just like the others (except, you know, it would be the last one) when in fact it was supposed to be an in-depth analysis of a country's political system. And much longer. So I was pretty busy for the few days after discovering that. Which happened to also be the few days before it was due.

But hey, it could have happened to anyone, right?

Right?

****

Viggy and I recently took Baby S to the consulate recently to apply for a passport for her, so that she can come with when I reunite with SNAN, and do some other stuff.

The consulate here is a single room. The waiting room is also the actual meeting room, so as you're sitting there in front of the consul dude hearing about all the mistakes you made filling out your forms, you can simultaneously feel the glares from a dozen more competent people who won't have their turn until you finish.

And then Baby S noticed that we were doing something with pens and paper, which means DRAWING, which means OMG WHY AM I NOT DRAWING WHHYYYY it is NOT FAIR!!!!

So then we had the mistakes, and the glaring, and a child climbing up and down us wailing, "Daa-ing!! DAAA-IIIIING!!!!" and grabbing at the pens.

Fortunately, I came up with a simple but genius solution, to wit: let Baby S draw on me. I left the room looking like I'd been attacked by a flock of rabid pens, but that's the price you pay for keeping the decibel level down.
****

N was sick Monday. When I went to pick D up from daycare, she informed me sadly that it was "NOT fun, because N wasn't there."

Then we got home and she and N raced to each other and gave each other a big hug. Awwww.

Stistarly love: it doesn't always involve hitting.
****
I had the following conversation with Adi recently. It started when Viggy mentioned something about the last Twilight movie.

A: Twilight? I love Twilight.
Me: Honey, I don't think you've seen Twilight.
A: Yes I have! Twilight is my favorite!
Me: No, only grown-ups see Twilight. Twilight isn't for kids.
A: I saw Twilight! At E's house!
Me: E's mom let you watch Twilight???
A: Yes! Me and E love Twilight! (Pause) And porky-pie, and Apple-jack, and all the rest of the My Little Ponies!
Me: *practically faints in relief*

(not that My Little Ponies is super educational, either, but I'm pretty sure there's no necrophilia semi-abusive undead romance going on there. And that "spider monkey" is never used as a sexy nickname.)

****

Speaking of Twilight, my plan to become an expert on all things paranormal-teen-fiction related (a profession that, funnily enough, I didn't see in this year's job rankings) has been thwarted by the local library's poor selection. And the fact that many of the books are objectively terrible.

Luckily, I have my love story starring a serial-killing clown to work on while I wait for more books to become available.

I have the best friends

Thanks to everyone who came to celebrate my birthday with me. It was a very fun time. Of course, I'm easy - I was having fun already in the car, just from the simple fact of traveling in relative style (the dealership's simplest car beats the best Egged bus any day of the week) and the temporary total freedom from responsibility.

But I'm pretty sure it would have been very fun by higher standards, too.

Of course, the friends who gave the most weren't even there. They were hosting all of my kids for a sleepover.

As I heard the next morning, some highlights of the evening were:

- A, N and their friend E demonstrating remarkable teamwork in getting D up from sitting on S's head.
- Baby S's bed being found empty - it turned out she'd climbed into bed with A in the middle of the night (awww).
- D's bed being found empty - it turned out she'd climbed into bed with the friends' parents in the middle of the night (any parents will do in a pinch, I guess) (to be fair, D doesn't climb in next to us, she climbs onto our feet. So it may not be that she didn't care who she was sleeping on so much as that she didn't realize whose bodies the feet were attached to).

***

About a day later I wasn't feeling so great. I had a bit of a headache and was unusually tired.

I realized that between the drinking during Thursday night's celebration, the late night that night coupled with the brutal trifecta of work, homework and cooking the next day, and the fact that I have after all been getting older, there was only one reasonable explanation - carbon monoxide poisoning.

For some reason, others did not agree.

Fortunately, I felt fine by yesterday. The carbon monoxide must have left for someone else's house.
***
A very random quote from the kids (context: explaining how very, very bad something would be):

"חס ושלום! חס וחלילה! בעזרת השם - לא, רגע, לא בעזרת השם!"

(rough translation: "God forbid! Heaven forbid! With God's help - no, wait, NOT God's help!")