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.
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.
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