Responding to the Tznius Brigade

This Shabbat (Saturday) we were visited by one of our liberal vegan friends. Being an airhead, I was not prepared despite having planned this days in advance. Specifically, we didn't have much vegan food, and we had promised the kids a trip to the nicest playground in walking distance - which is in a nearby chassidic neighborhood, where the typical non-orthodox Israeli style of dress is very much frowned on.

We got past the first issue thanks to our friend's willingness to make due with potatoes, strawberry ice and ice coffee.

As for the second, our friend came with us to the park, and when an older chassidic woman inevitably mentioned that "this is a religious neighborhood, and the way you are dressed is not appropriate," she very politely said, "Thanks for telling me."

(To be fair, I should note that it isn't just chassidic women who feel free to mention things to strangers here in Israel. Not by a long shot.)

With that the story was over - but it left me thinking, while "Thank you for telling me" is by far the most polite response to someone criticizing your clothing as immodest, aren't there so many things it would be more fun to say?

With that in mind, I would like to present a few alternate responses. (I would like to note in advance that I don't mean these to be anti-hareidi (hareidi = ultra orthodox). I know and like many hareidim, and I know that hareidi women, too, have to deal with comments on their clothing. So this list is for them, too.

Also, penguins are totally my favorite kind of bird.)

Responses for the Tznius Brigade:

“Oh, I’m sorry, is my shirt bothering you? I could take it off.”

“If you must know, I suffer from split personality disorder. My head and legs are religious, but my torso isn’t. Please don’t comment on it again, it upsets us to talk about it.”

“I actually had a long-sleeved black dress on over this until a few minutes ago, but then I saw a woman who was wearing just a bikini, so I gave it to her.”

“Oh, is this a religious neighborhood? I am so, so sorry, I didn’t realize. I left my glasses at home today, and I thought I was in the penguin exhibit.”

“My religion believes that it’s an abomination to wear more than one square meter of fabric’s worth of clothing in the summer months. I respect your beliefs; please try to respect mine.”

“Actually, I’m biologically male, so pants are OK. I asked my rabbi.”

“Oh! They told me you’d be here, but I was starting to worry! Let’s see, what was it… ‘The sea cucumber wakes at midnight.’” (Then when they respond, say, ‘No, no – the sea cucumber wakes at midnight.’ Complete with meaningful stare.)

“You know, I want to thank you for telling me that. I think it’s really important that people be honest with each other about these things, and not take offense. Since we’re on the same page here – I didn’t want to say anything earlier, but that shade of black makes you look like a whore.”

“You can see me? How can you see me??” (talk into invisible headpiece) “Yossi, the invisibility shield is down. I repeat, invisibility shield is down.”

Readers - if you have any more ideas, please add them in the comments.

The test

So I finally finished my course in infi (infinitestimasomething calculus). I'm not sure if I passed, but I am done.

The test was Thursday. I wanted to spend just a little time Thursday morning studying - L'hopital's rule in particular seemed to keep falling out of my head - but it was like trying to eat when you're nauseous. I was just too wired.

I had previously tried to calm myself by thinking how it wouldn't be so bad, really, to fail this course. I can always retake it in the summer. It's not like I had anything else to do. I would have just wasted all that time on things like parenting and not hating my life. It would even be good for me to repeat the course. I would get a much better grasp of the material.

The problem is, that approach worked so well that I got too calm.

So this time I tried to be rational. I thought to myself, Self, you are as on edge over this as you were when the rocket siren went off back in 2008. Now that's just absurd. It's just a test.

Then I thought, well, let's do the math.

There have been, like, 8,000 rocket attacks over the past 5 years or so, and I would guess 10-15 fatalities. I won't even factor in the fact that when the rocket siren sounded I was inside, which would have dramatically reduced my chances of injury. I'll assume I had 70 years of life left at that point (high estimate), and that there were 80,000 people with me in the rocket's range (it was more) so my personal chances of being the person who died, if one of us did, were not high.

So E(years of my life lost) = p (death) x 70 = (15/8,000) x 1/80,000 x 70 = 1.64 X 10^ (-6)

Whereas E(years of my life lost) for the math test = chances of failure x time lost if I have to retake the test. Let's assume I'd study for a total of three weeks if I had to retake the course.

E (life lost) = 3/52 x 0.50 = 2.8 x 10^ (-2)

Now, I was very on edge so the math might have been off, but even if I was off by a factor of 100 the results are clear:
Even math agrees that math tests are worse than rockets.

Anyway. At that point I thought BRAIN SHUT UP YOU ARE NOT HELPING and went grocery shopping with a toddler, which turned out to be a remarkably good way to burn nervous energy. And non-nervous energy. Pretty much every kind of available energy.

(The thing about grocery shopping with toddlers isn't the running after them, it's the need to look constantly perky and unflustered when you do because people - and not just any people, GRANDMOTHER people - are watching. So you can't just be like, "AHHHHH why won't you STOP!!! Can we please, please, please just get the last few items and go???.... No?... That's it, I'm using these plastic bags to fashion a crude leash and tie you to the cart," you have to be like, "Oh baby S, you need to come back over here! Honey, you know what Mommy says about using the toilet paper as a trampoline," all while smiling maniacally in what you hope looks like a Normal Functioning Mommy face but probably looks more like Deranged Pudgy Bag Lady on Speed.

Anyway.

Just for the record, I slipped toward the end and looked flustered next to a Russian Grandmother as baby S ran off while I was running my bread through the slicer. And it was wonderful. The Russian Grandmother type picked Baby S up like it was no big thing and started talking to her in Russian; if I understood correctly, mostly saying something about why is Baby S wearing only one sock. Baby S was too surprised to tantrum and so just stayed in her arms staring at her, and I got my bread sliced before taking her back.)

So by the time I got home, packed some snacks for Baby S, packed a bag for me, checked to make sure I had all my things, realized I couldn't find my student ID, looked for my student ID, looked again for my student ID, called Viggy in a complete panic, looked with Viggy for my student ID, hyperventilated, and finally found my student ID at the foot of the bed where it had fallen out of my pocket the day before - it was already time to go. What good timing.

The timing became a bit less good when I missed my bus. Here is why I missed my bus: because I was waiting for the other one. It turns out I wanted the 70, not the 78, or maybe it was the other way around. I don't even remember anymore, meaning this will probably be a problem during my next test, too.

(pictured above: someone who does not stand a very good chance of passing her math test)

Fortunately I still got there just in time. Then I actually took the test, which took exactly the three hours I had to take it. I just hope whoever's grading it understands the parts where I crossed things out at the last minute and added notes in the margin. Or maybe I should hope that whoever's grading it doesn't understand, and thus wrongly assumes the best about what I meant to say.

In a post-test rundown of the questions and my answers with a Parental Unit, I realized that I probably did better on one question than I had thought, that I definitely did worse on another than I had hoped, and that overall I have a shot at passing.

My (realistic) hope is for an overall score somewhere in the 70s. That's a very low score for someone who's taken Calculus before, but on the other hand, it's a very high score for someone who can't even figure out which %@#$^*& bus to take to the test.

I should know for sure in a couple of weeks.

And if I fail, well... I hear enjoying life is overrated anyway. 

For my vegan readers

A recent conversation with a newly vegan friend:

Me: Oh right, I forget you can't have brownies anymore.
Her: I can have brownies. Just not the ones with baby chickens in them.
Me: Oh, come on. Eggs aren't baby chickens, they're chicken ova.
Me: .....
Me: Wow. Eggs are disgusting.

See vegans? You don't even need to make smart arguments to persuade people join you - just insist on anatomically correct labels for the foods we eat.

(That said, I'm not sure being (temporarily) grossed out by eggs will be a real improvement for me, vegan-wise. I might just make up for the missing protein by eating more meat. Eating ova sounds disgusting, but devouring the flesh of conquered species sounds pretty hardcore.)

Random

An overheard discussion during a birthday party:

Friend: I don't like any of you. You're not my friends. You're... you're... cats.
Friend's 3-year-old brother: Oh yeah? Well you're a cow.
Friend: You're the whole world.

I love kid insults.

Speaking of, a second conversation:

The scene: we are at the playground, where a certain toddler is having trouble not using bathroom language.

Her: POOPY!! POOPY! PENIS! POOP POOPY!!
Me: If you can't speak nicely, you'll have a time-out with me (restrains her).
Her: FOOYA POOPY PENIS!!! POOP POOP PENIS PEEPEE!!!
Me: I guess you're going to have to stay in time-out for a while.
Her (eyes suddenly open wide): You're pretty, Mommy.

*****

Four beds. The kids have four beds in their bedroom, not counting the crib.

And here's how they're sleeping right now.

*****
English needs more words.

Just a few of the many things that need words:

- The mixed feeling of pride and I-should-probably-do-something-about-that when your young child successfully takes on a much bigger kid who was annoying her.

- The feeling of "I should probably do something about that." In my experience, this is a very common feeling, more so than plenty of things (rage, nostalgia) that do get their own words.

- The act of a young child pushing a parent exactly to the brink of sanity, then doing something adorable right at the last minute.

Guide to Passover, from Baby S

A Passover survival flow chart, based on hard-earned wisdom from Baby S.

Child vs. Ceiling

Here is a test to see how familiar you all are with my blog:

If your first thought was, "What is that, a flesh-colored egg? What does that have to do with parenting?" you must be new.

If your first thought was, "So... one of your kids was naked, or something?" you've probably been here once or twice before.

And if your first thought was, "So why was Dani angry at the ceiling?" - what can I say. You know me, and you know my life.

Like so many things my kids do that mess with my head, this one was accidentally started by me.

It all began when Dani wanted something to kick. No, I told her, you can't kick a sister. No, I told her, you can't kick the chairs. NO, NO KICKING SISTERS, I reminded her.

Finally poor frustrated Dani had an idea. "Can I kick the ceiling?" she asked.
"Yes," I told her. "If you can reach the ceiling, you can go ahead and kick it."

I meant that as a way to briefly amuse myself at the expense of my 3-year-old (mocking children without them noticing is one of the lesser-discussed joys of parenting). She took it as carte blanche to wage all-out war on the ceiling. Hey, Mommy lets us kick it - the ceiling must seriously be an enemy in our house.

That's how we ended up with scenes like that a few evenings ago.
"Mommy," one of my other children said, entering the room where I was working, "D is using bathroom words."
Through the open door I could hear, "CEILING!! You are POOPY! You are a PENIS!! You are a POOPY PENIS!!!! Fooya ceiling!"
"OK, sweetie," I said. What is there to say?

I had to find a way to confess to Viggy that I was behind the whole situation. But as it turns out, Viggy is pretty much all for anything that keeps the kids' feet busy doing something other than climbing up him the minute he sits down. So we're good.
*****

In Why Are We Crying Today news:

- because N was born second, and it's not fair, because she got to be born second last week AND the week before, and it's NOT FAIR.

- because, Mommy, you said not to swallow the gum, and I didn't swallow the gum, but it swallowed itself! I was just chewing it and it went to my throat in the back part and was swallowed and I wasn't trying to!

- because I said POTATO CHIPS not TUNA SANDWICH, how can I make this any clearer? Seriously, what's wrong with you people?

My kids have tough lives.

Book Reviews

Yet again, it's a particularly busy and stressful time of year. And yet again, I've somehow found time to read enough books to write more book reviews. Funny how that happens.

(the stress, for the record, has almost nothing to do with Passover, the upcoming holiday which I've been preparing for only in the vaguest possible sense of the word)

The Night Watch (Fantasy)

The first in a series by Sergei Lukyanenko. Not to be confused with the Night Watch of Song of Ice and Fire (/Game of Thrones) fame.

I picked this book up because I'm running out of fantasy books in English at the local library, and it was there. Fortunately, it was good enough that I'll probably read the sequels, thus further delaying the day on which I'll have to either start reading in a new language, start reading books written for grown-ups, or start paying for books (all terrible options).

The front cover proudly announces that, according to the Daily Telegraph, this is "JK Rowling, Russian style." I couldn't help drawing the parallels.

Rowling's hero:

11-year-old Harry learns that he has magical powers, and is whisked off to an enchanted castle to learn and explore his new world.

Lukyanenko's hero:

30-year-old Anton learns that he has magical powers, and decides to continue working as a computer programmer.

Harry: Lives in a world where the noble and courageous good wizards must face off against a powerful evil wizard and his minions.

Anton: Lives in a world where the Light wizards, who are good... OK, sort of good... in a "responsible for most major genocides" kind of way... face off against the Dark wizards, who are bad... sort of bad... it's all kind of complicated, really.

Harry: Isn't unusually skilled, but manages to beat more experienced foes due to a combination of determination, grit, pluck, courage, moxie, dumb luck, and what-the-hell-JK-Rowling-are-you-serious.

Anton: If he wins at anything, it's probably a trap.

Harry: For fun, likes to partake of whimsical foods like Every Flavour Beans and Butterbeer and to play the magical game of Quidditch. 

Anton: Does not have fun. When not being attacked by Dark Wizards or jerked around by his boss, likes to drink cheap Russian vodka and contemplate the fact that there is no real good in the universe.

***

It's pretty funny to think of Anton as Russia's version of Harry Potter, but I have a feeling the book was meant for a slightly older audience. 

Although... when I first made the comparison, I thought, "Who would give The Night Watch to their 12-year-old to read? All that drinking and sex. Harry Potter is way more wholesome." But after a while, I started thinking, "Who would give Harry Potter to their 12-year-old to read? All that moral simplicity. The Night Watch is way closer to educational."

Oh, and one last parallel (*spoilers*):

Harry: Love interest Ginny gets involved with other guys as part of a convoluted plan to get his attention.

Anton: Love interest Sveta gets involved with other guys as part of a convoluted plan to get his attention.

Some things are apparently universal.

My rating: 3.5 out of 5 stars.

One Beautiful Baby (Educational)

The basic plot - take one sweet smile... three big bananas... seven silly sounds... what do you get? One beautiful baby!

Actually, scratch "basic," that's the whole thing.

This book has numbers, in an apparent attempt to appeal to parents' constant gnawing fear that their toddlers are somehow already behind in school. Unfortunately, despite that one concession to math, the book's basic concept is completely mathematically and biologically flawed. 

My advice - if you don't want to tell your kids where babies come from, just don't tell them. Don't pretend that adding bananas, diapers, sticky fingers, and seven other simple ingredients (or maybe not so simple, since "ducks" is on the list) will create a new human being. It could cause way too much confusion down the line.

My rating: 1 out of 5 stars.

You Can Count! (Educational)

The basic idea - Barney has a surprise for his friends Baby Bop and BJ. But instead of just telling them what it is like a normal person, he has to wait until they've spent the entire book just wandering around. Oh, and there are also flaps with numbers underneath, and when you press the button with that number, Barney's voice will say the number and add some inane commentary ("Six! Oh boy, oh boy!").

The good: 

- It has Barney, bright colors, flaps to lift, and sounds. All the things small kids love, in one book.

- The set-up helps kids associate each quantity with both its written number and its sound.

The bad:

- It has Barney, bright colors, flaps to lift, and sounds. All the things that help turn what would normally be merely a monotonous pre-bedtime reading experience into what feels like a lifetime of torture, in one book.

- Someday your kids will leave this book on the floor somewhere, you'll be innocently making your way to the bathroom in the middle of the night or to the coffee machine in the morning, and suddenly you'll hear Barney's disembodied voice saying, "Eight! That's great!!" And you will know the meaning of terror.

My rating: 2.5 out of 5 stars.