more stories

Yesterday evening I asked my kids to help me by picking up the clothes and towels on the floor of their room and putting them somewhere I could reach.

After 15 minutes, Adi had made several trips over to bring me piles of clothes, and N had sort of helped, too. D had been cutting paper.

Me: Wow, A, thank you so much for all your help!
N: Mommy, I helped too!
Me: Yes, thank you to you, too, N! You helped clean up and encouraged D to help.
D: Mommy, look! I cut my paper into the box and not onto the floor!

Awwww.

***

Child: Mommy, right it's fun to be a girl? Because boys only think they're in charge.
Me: What do you mean?
Child: Like, when we ask Daddy something, he says, 'I don't know, ask Mommy.'

***

Did I mention that one of my children got a marriage proposal from a little boy in her kindergarten class? She accepted, but on the condition that her mommy only lets her get married in another 15 years.

This happened on the way to her class. As we kept walking, we had the following discussion:

Her: I know why he wants to marry me.
Me: Why is that?
Her: Because we kissed on the lips last year in preschool. And again this year. And we'll do it again next year in first grade.
Me: Oh.
Me (feeling like I should parent, or something): Umm... maybe it would be better to just kiss friends on the cheek?
Her: Hmm. Maybe. But it's our bodies, so we'll do what we want with them.

Oh man. How did I get myself into this before they even started grade school???

***

Did I mention that the girl in the above story was not D? But Dani also has her admirers. Today she was upset on the way home from preschool, and a little boy (YC) who's in her class came over to give her a hug.

Her response: "Go away, YC! Do you want me to hit you?"

***

As for me, I'm still hanging around being enormous. With the threat of an impending math test no longer looming over my head (long story short, it turns out I was allowed to postpone it to the end of this next semester even without giving a reason), I've discovered that my urge to clean the house really is due to the "nesting instinct" (aka that urge women get to clean everything just as they reach the point where they can barely move to so much as pick up a sock) and not just my usual "procrastination instinct" (familiar to anyone who's had a test they really don't want to take). Thanks to a few hours of work this morning, I've brought my computer space and the kids' bedroom from "filthy" to just "messy" - yay!

A collection of random stories:

Recently I arranged with the mother of A's best friend, E, for A to go over to their house after school. When the bus came, she told both girls about the playdate.

Their response: "our prayers were answered!!"

Yes, apparently they had literally been praying for A to come over to play. The story continues (but in a form not all readers will understand - sorry about that):

When they decided on the bus that they should pray for A to come over and play, A asked, "So what prayer should we say?"

E suggested the Amidah. A was worried, "I don't know that one by heart yet." So instead, she said Modeh Ani.

***

On a different occasion, E was at our house playing with all the girls. N was the princess. I overheard the following:

E (to N): You're the princess, and your mother is dead.
N: Do we have to say she died? Can't she just be at work?

***

On yet another occasion, E and her two younger brothers (who are N and D's age) came over briefly. After a few minutes, E's brother who's in first grade came over.

"Ali, the girls are all in the bathroom."
"OK, thanks for letting me know."
"No, but they're all in there!! Only N is really using the bathroom!"
"I see. That's a little strange, but I allow it."
"But they're all in there! Why??"

I had no answer.

***

One of my kids came up to me this evening, "Mommy, I have a funny joke! Are you listening?"
"OK, what's the joke?"
"Your tummy is so fat that it could explode!!" (child cracks up)
".... " (it's funny because it's true, apparently)

***

A different child was asking this morning when the baby will be born. I told her I don't know (my calm while discussing it was impressive, if I do say so myself, considering that "AAAAUUUGH when will this baby be born?????" has been on my mind quite a bit lately (no, I'm not overdue, just prone to pre-labor panic)).

Her conclusion, "I hope it's very soon, because I can't get my arms around you to hug you anymore." Aww.

***

For those who may not have heard, D was in the hospital this week, after suffering what appeared to be a broken nose at gan. Fortunately, her nose wasn't actually broken, just very swollen.

(It's good to mention these things now, before some of you come to visit and find D with two black eyes... )

So anyway, she and I were in the emergency room for x-rays and all that good stuff. She was so, so good when it came time for the x-rays; she held totally still like they asked, and this with me not allowed in the room. The technician was shocked.

It was a funny reminder of what a wonderfully well-behaved child D can be, when she's not doing the kinds of things that get her nose almost broken (number of times since then that D has engaged in perilous activity: too many to count... ).

***

While we were at the hospital, D asked me if people can go underwater. We talked about the different ways people could stay underwater for a while (submarine, scuba gear). After we'd covered that, she said, "Good. After N's birthday I want you to take me to the ocean and we'll go in a special underwater boat and I can see mermaids."

I had to explain that mermaids are not real. But there are lots of other interesting things under the water! Like fish in all kinds of colors, and coral reefs, and sharks ("imaleh!") and whales ("hmph")!

She thought for a minute, then said, "OK, so after N's birthday I want you to take me to the ocean and I'll go underwater and see lots of fish. (Pause, scowl) But they'd better not all be blue fish."

***

Meanwhile, I continue to half-study for my math test. I say "half" because cramming just isn't the same in my current situation. I'm studying a few hours a day, but I'm also tired and having frequent contractions and frankly just can't bring myself to care that much about whether various series converge anymore.

I tell myself that the math doesn't particularly care if I care about it. As long as I can remember how to actually solve the problems... As to that, the test is set up as five problems, each with a part A and B which are unrelated to each other, and I'll need to solve 4 of the 5, so a total of 8. At this point, I feel fairly confident in my ability to solve about 6 problems on each test - both A and B for a single problem, and just one or the other for the rest. Dar.

Half of my brain is half-hoping to go into labor before the test, so I can get an extension ("half" hoping because it's hard to fully hope for labor, which can be... less than fun). The other, probably wiser half realizes that postponing the test may not put me in a better situation (more time to study only helps if you're actually using it to study, as it turns out).

Anyway. Time to sleep. Or maybe sleep for two hours, then give birth. Not that I'm panicking, or anything.

Waiting, whining

OK so I am very very pregnant. I mean, technically there are only two settings ("not pregnant" and "all the way pregnant"), but we all know what I mean. I am enormous, cranky, and tired.

I was making a half-hearted attempted not to whine about the difficulties of the last month of pregnancy. After all, it's not like anyone ordered me get pregnant with what will hopefully be the fifth kid in the family. In fact, I'm pretty sure most of you, had you been asked, wouldn't have recommended it. So what right do I have to whine?

On second thought, though, I realized that I feel free to whine about work, even though I'm lucky to have my job and nobody told me to work there, and I feel free to whine about math, even though nobody told me to major in math. So I'm going to go ahead and whine about this as well.

(On third thought, it might not be such a good idea to look to my own behavior as a standard for appropriate behavior... )

Anyway. I'm big and tired, and things hurt.

There. Whining done.

*****

So... why try for five kids? I wanted to write a whole post about this, but I'm not sure I have a whole post's worth of explanation. Suffice to say, I have yet to not be very happy about deciding to try to have a kid, after making the decision in the past (maybe that doesn't suffice to say. But it's all I can state semi-coherently for now, so I'll have to stop there).

*****

So... I must really be hoping for a boy, right?

I'm going to give you all the benefit of the doubt and assume none of you were actually thinking that, but based on the comments I've been getting in recent weeks, it's definitely something some people think.

So no. I am really, genuinely not hoping for anything but a healthy baby. Viggy too.

It's so weird how some people are about a baby's sex. I'm not someone who thinks that men and women are naturally the same, and the only gender differences are cultural - not at all - but seriously, it's not like if you've met one girl or one boy you've met them all.

A boy baby would be an interesting new person, and unique in our family. A girl baby would be an interesting new person, and unique in our family. Yes, we would have four other girls, but so what? If we have a boy, he'd be one of about 180,000 boy babies born worldwide that day. And yet, still not interchangeable with any of them.

(OK, at least not after the first six months or so. As much as I really do care for even the small squishy new babies, they are pretty interchangeable.)

(There. Gender rant done, too.)

*****

And since you've let me rant so nicely, a couple of kid anecdotes -

My mother in law was here recently, and brought the kids some clothes. Among the clothes she brought were three t-shirts with a picture of Dora the Explorer.

All of the t-shirts are six 6. And all of them now belong to S.

She doesn't insist on wearing all of them at once (I'm not sure if that's because even she has to draw the line somewhere, or if it just hasn't occurred to her yet). So instead, she wears one, and if anyone tries to touch one of the others, she wrests it from their hands and runs around with it, usually while yelling "S's shirt!!!"

Did I mention that she's taken to referring to herself in the third person?

She's going to be Dora for Purim, for the simple reason that if we can't get her to wear anything but Dora-themed clothing anyway, we might as well just go with it.

Did I mention that she barely ever watches TV, let alone Dora (which A and N have rejected as a "baby show")? But it doesn't matter. The beauty and wonder and just plain right-ness of Dora are so obvious to her that she doesn't need things like TV shows to help her see it.

**

S is very attached to Adi, who recently explained, "It's like we're beads on a bracelet. N and D are right next to each other, so they're very close. S and I are at opposite ends of the string. But then when you loop the string around, we're right next to each other! So we're very close too."

**

Adi is on the way to becoming a true bookworm. Today I had to call her name four times before she looked up from her page, and I'm not sure she was listening even when she did. I'm so proud.

**

D has started writing me notes. No, her writing isn't that good. But that doesn't stop her from scribbling on pieces of paper, bringing them to me, and saying things like, "This note says I love you, Mommy."

I'm not sure how much of it is an attempt to express herself even without knowing all the letters, and how much of it is an attempt to justify the quantity of paper that she's been cutting into note-size pieces (D and scissors get along like lighters and gasoline, ie, a little too well). But either way, I find myself keeping her notes. 

Stupid Ali Stories

When Snan and I were children, I would sometimes tell her stories (I wasn't evil all the time, everyone needs a break now and then). Her favorites were always the Stupid Ali stories, with subjects like "that time Ali walked into the door" and "Ali's public attempt to use stairs ends very badly."

I thought of the Stupid Ali stories yesterday afternoon, during a routine ultrasound to estimate the baby's size (why they think mothers-to-be need to know exactly how many pounds of human they'll be pushing out... I'm not sure why they do it, but apparently it's a thing). After being bizarrely shocked at the baby's "large" size (on track to be about 7-8.5 pounds, just like all his/her/its sisters), the ultrasound tech turned the screen to show me a shot of the face.

My reaction: "Wow, it looks just like a baby!"

The ultrasound tech very kindly nodded as if I'd said something profound, rather than saying what I would have said, namely, "Lady, what the hell did you think was in there???"

***

Which reminds me of the time that I was around eight months pregnant with D, and Adi (who had just turned 3) decided that she, too, was pregnant. With twins. Twin sheep.

***

So I finally found someone to tutor me in Infi 2.

It was actually very, very hard to find someone, despite living in what's basically math geek central. It turns out that almost everyone who works as a math tutor doesn't feel confident teaching infi 2, and almost everyone who's taken infi 2 has no interest in teaching (/ability to teach) the material. Yes, I realize that this probably isn't a good sign regarding the course itself.

Anyway. This week, during our third tutoring session, the tutor looked at some of the work I'd done and said in a somewhat surprised tone, "You really do like math, don't you?"

Well, yes. Just not at the end of the semester. And even less so after what should have been the end of the semester, when I'm spending my "semester break" preparing for the "OK, moron, we'll give you one more chance" round of finals.

To be honest, I'm pleasantly surprised that my non-hatred of math managed to shine through as early as the third meeting.

(and on that note - back to improper integrals... )

Books!

Time for another book review:

The Leftovers (author, Tom Perrotta, category, fiction)

(Before I get started I should note, for the sake of complete transparency, that the author is part of my extended family. But I should note in regards to that note that in my world, being part of my extended family doesn't necessarily mean I'm going to pick up the phone if you call, much less buy and read your book. So bias is unlikely, I think.)

The basic premise of the book: three years ago, a bunch of people suddenly disappeared in an event very much like the Rapture, except for the part where the people who went missing seem to have been a completely random sampling of humanity.

"So... like 'Left Behind,' but for agnostics?" you may be wondering, if you are unfamiliar with Tom Perrotta's work. But if you've read anything of his before, you know it's all about the relationships and the personal discovery. Forget brave, suspiciously young and buff scientists investigating the mysterious disappearances, or people lobbing grenades at each other in some post-apocalyptic hellscape - how will the mass disappearances affect Kevin and Laurie's marriage? Will Tom realize he's been sucked into a cult - and if so, what will he do next? 

That might sound boring (at least relative to the option with the grenades), but I promise, it isn't. I don't usually like the kind of books that are less about where the story goes than about where the characters go (couldn't we have at least one suspiciously buff scientist-adventurer?), but I read this whole book by mid-afternoon.

And I realized something: I realized that I need a new scale for reacting to books, with more options than just "like" or "didn't like."

"Like" works for books that are both society-approved and make nice feelings when you read them. I'm thinking Harry Potter, Pride and Prejudice, that kind of thing.

"Dislike" works for books that society doesn't approve of and that are just plain boring and bad (I won't give examples here).

But there are so many other categories. Liked-it-but-would-never-admit-it, for example (looking at you, Twilight...). Couldn't-finish-it-but-don't-want-to-admit-that (cough *anythingbyDickens* cough). 

Perrotta books are a conundrum. When an author does a brilliant job conveying the precise feeling of being on a horribly awkward date, or of watching a relationship fall apart - is that something I "like"? Well, I didn't want to stop reading, but I don't exactly enjoy the emotions being evoked. 

I know, I know - that's what literature is supposed to be. Deep feelings, thought-provoking situations, etc, not sparkley vampires and happy endings. It's true. 

But it needs something more than just "like." Some pithy way of expressing "I was completely sucked into the story, and here I am recommending it to my friends - but the feelings it made me feel were often not fun." 

(It's sad how far back I have to dig in my memory to find other books like that. Studying math has turned me into a reader of almost exclusively no-brain-required books - or that's my excuse, anyway.) 

Nope, no kids' book this time

Normally I'd review at least one other book here, but it's late, and I'm large and slow and tired, etc, I'll spare you all the whining and excuses. 

Instead, I will redirect you to here: http://www.cracked.com/photoplasty_781_34-childrens-books-updated-modern-problems/ 

Read it, especially the #1 entry, which is a work of pure genius. 

(For readers who are unfamiliar with the "cracked" website - any article from there should be assumed to have naughty language and jokes about body parts/bodily functions. Continue at your own risk.)

Test

I've been busy again, this time taking a couple of math tests. Or more, frantically studying in hopes of maybe passing one of the math tests the first time around.
****

Yesterday I took the second test. There were several of us in the room who were taking the same math exam (the university puts different classes together for tests, but I could tell who was taking "my" test by the identical sets of lurid-green textbooks on their desks).

Aside from me, there was a hareidi (ultra orthodox) guy, a Muslim woman (in a hijab), a not-religious-looking Israeli-Israeli woman, and a Russian guy. People from all different walks of life, all suffering the same horrible math exam together. It was almost heartwarming, except for the part with the final exam (unsurprisingly, us lurid-green-books people were the last ones out of the room).
****

I've decided that math is to me what marathons are to the crazy weirdos who run marathons (seriously, people, just look at the name! "Marathon," after that time a guy ran that distance and then died immediately. Why????).
There's this cycle of:
1. OK, this is going to be tough, but I'm excited.
2. Off to a good start.
3. Wow, this is really challenging. I forgot how hard it is. But that's OK, I like a challenge.
4. It hurts.
5. It really hurts. Make it stop.
6. OK, this was a bad idea. I should just stop now and (go rest/go major in something normal).
7. Owwwwwwww.
8. ALL IS PAIN.
9. Oh hey, it's over.
10. (weird chemicals hit brain, presumably thanks to non-natural-selection-friendly mutation) THAT WAS AWESOME. I should totally do this again in another few months.
****

When I got home from my test last night, I told Viggy that I wasn't sure how it went, and still don't know if I'll have to retake one final in March, or two.

Me: But hey, at least there's one awesome thing that's going to happen in March, too, right?
Viggy: You mean having the baby?
Me: Oh. Uhhh... that too, but I actually was thinking of Game of Thrones coming back on the air.
Viggy: ......
Me: I'm a terrible mother, aren't I?

(To be fair, the baby might not be born until April.)
****

Also, this week A, N and D have all been home sick. Or more, A has been home sick (since Sunday), N has been home sick-ish, since Monday, and D has been home "sick" because I didn't have the heart to send her to preschool when she knew the other two (aka the Awesomest Big Sisters who are to be Worshipped in Everything Always) were staying home.

And then today, just as they were all recovering (/"recovering"), I get a call from S's daycare. She's also sick. And nobody does sick like a two-year-old. They're young enough to have no idea what's going on, but old enough to put up a decent fight (against what? well, mostly getting medicine or having their diaper changed, but also just life in general).

So tomorrow it will be me, 8 hours of work, about a dozen math problems (I did mention that I only passed one of those tests the first time around, right?), and one sick toddler. I haven't quite perfected my Ali's First Rule of Coffee equation, but I'm pretty sure that means tomorrow should be a 5-cup day. Except that 3 of those cups will have to be caffeine-free.

(It's tempting to just give in to the lure of 3+ cups of full-caffeine coffee... after all, this is a Viggy and me baby, what are the odds of low birth weight being an issue? But I resist.)
****

A few days ago, D asked what I was doing when I was studying math. I told her I was doing something kinda like the math she knows (זה כאילו צורה של חשבון).

A couple days later, a friend of mine overheard D explaining to her daughter what it is I do in the mornings, "She pretends to do math" (היא עושה כאילו שהיא עושה חשבון).

Uh oh... (or: on reading Matilda)

I've been reading the book Matilda with one of the kids.

It's a dark book in a lot of ways - there's an adult who goes around beating up little kids, emotionally abusive parents, child neglect, mentions of murder, etc. (As I may have mentioned, I have a theory that all the best children's entertainment - books, movies, poetry, etc - is pretty dark when you think about it.)

I was a little nervous about the particularly dark section we were reading tonight, where Miss Honey tells the story of her father's suicide-that-was-probably-murder, her abusive childhood growing up with Miss Trunchbull as a guardian, and how she's being forced to hand over most of her salary to Miss Trunchbull and live in abject poverty.

My (7-year-old) child's reaction to the concept of suicide: "What, so he did like this *puts hands in shape of gun, points in mouth* and just 'pow'?"

Me: *horrified* Umm... it may have been like that, the book doesn't say.

Child: *nods wisely* That's what [child's friend] does in class when it's really boring.

Good lord, where do they get these things.... (OK, the friend in question has an older brother in middle school, so I have a fair idea of where).

My child's reaction to the thought of Miss Trunchbull stealing all of Miss Honey's money:
"You know what I would do? I would give her money so she thinks it's real money, but really it's fake money. I would say *smiles cheerfully* 'here you go' and she'd think she had all my money and then I'd call the police and say 'she's using fake money' and she'd go to jail."

(OK, that one seems to have come straight out of my child's own active imagination. And I'm a little scared now.)

By the way, we previously had trouble getting through some parts of the story because she would get so mad that she would slap pictures of Matilda's father or Miss Trunchbull and we'd lose our place. I suppose it's good that her righteous indignation is being vented on books.