the pieces of my life

Did you know that on Israeli Blogger, the username and password go from left to right? And they’re in Hebrew. But I digress. This post is clearly about the scariest thing I’ve ever done. And I’ve done a lot of stupid things. But the clear winner here is…

I let my 5 year old rappel down a cliff. Yes, that’s right. The materials were very clear: “Children age 9 and older and adults may rappel.” But this is Israel. And the rules don’t matter. And the guide said, “If he’s not afraid, he can go! I took down a 3 year old once.” And the boy was not afraid (thankfully, the girl was, because I couldn’t have handled that one).

“Rappel! Rappel! Rappel! Rappel!” he chanted all the way there (he’s the one in the red shirt on the right below). Halfway down, Adam had to give him a little hand because he didn’t want to let go of the rope, but he made it down, and while he thought it was a bit scary, he doesn’t seem to be harmed.

We’ve also: hiked in Mahktesh Ramon, eaten in a Bedouin tent, rode a llama (Pie), saw ibexes in the middle of the street on a run (Jenny), visited and lunched at the home of a Moroccan Jew, floated in the Dead Sea, had spa treatments (Adam and Jenny), saw camels, watched Strawberry Shortcake in Hebrew (Pie and Doodles), not slept much, ate way too much, and have generally had a very good time. Yes, there’s more to tell. But the Internet connection is costly and I’m on a borrowed computer. So tomorrow, off to Massada and Ein Gedi and then Sfat. Lilah tov!

On the flight to NYC:
Doodles: What's this?
He's holding up the airsickness bag.
Me: Some people get sick on planes. That's for if someone has to throw up.
Doodles peers in.
Doodles: But, Mom, there's no throw up in here!

And now we're sitting at JFK waiting to go through security again to board. We got here at about 3:30 and we leave at 10:10. Pie had the sleepiest eyes I've ever seen. Doodles is… Well, remember the song "Matchmaker, Matchmaker"? "You think you'll get the rabbi's son?" "Well why not? We only have one rabbi and he only has one son!" "Why not? I'll tell you why not!"

Well the why not is because the rabbi's son is sharing a seat with my son… cosied up… watching "Angelina Ballerina" together.

Five minutes to boarding. Thirteen hours to Tel Aviv. Fifteen hours till I order my first Israeli beer.

Lehitriot.

I had these visions. I’d write up a series of interesting, witty, and thought-provoking posts and schedule them to appear while I was gone. I was going to whip up fresh cookies to have on the flight for the kids. I was going to clean completely, take out the trash, pack up boxes, and have things organized for the move when I got back. I was going to create beautiful travel journals for the kids to write in. I was going to find the perfect Israeli-themed book to take with me.

I did take out the trash.

And really that’s good enough. I am making my kids some kick ass playlists for their lovely new-to-them iPods. How many of the other kids are going to have both SteveSongs and Beastie Boys on their playlists?

So we’re off. I’ll have my iPhone, but it’ll have an Israeli SIM card, so it’ll be cost prohibitive to just send photos and posts willy nilly, but whenever I can find wifi to log into, I’ll be sure to send some photos and brief posts here.

Otherwise, I’ll have a lot to say when we get back!

Happy trails to us!

I’m contributing to the delinquency of a diva. The snow is piling up outside. Adam isn’t feeling well, so he’s napping. We’ve read books, shoveled in the snow (just for fun and we discovered the greatest snow fun there is–I pull sheets of ice off the picnic bench in the backyard and the kids jump on it to shatter it), had hot chocolate, wrote some thank you notes, kids played with Legos and painted and I cleaned, and we started packing. And it’s only 3 p.m. I don’t have the energy for an afternoon of Mickey Mouse Playhouse and Imagination Movers, so I’ve turned on Wedding Central and the kids are riveted. Pie’s already chosen her cake: “It’s going to be the biggest one in the world. It’s going to have chocolate sticks with trees and a piggy. And it’s going to be Pie and Jasmine.” For what it’s worth, I did try to show them both Land Before Time and Charlotte’s Web but Pie freaked out at both of them, and Doodles finally said, “Can we just keep watching the wedding channel.” Et tu, Doodles?

It’s been a languorous weekend. Despite sounding like I got a lot done this morning, I’ve had this lazy haze about me. I’m feeling unusually stressed these days as there’s a lot coming up. Two things are on the forefront of my mind:

The first is the house remodel. We’ve given our notice on the apartment–we’re to be out by February 28–and things are supposedly in the fast-moving stage of the house. I’m not completely sure I believe it. We were stuck at a point where I couldn’t see the changes–electrical work, plumbing work, waiting for inspections. But now we’re moving. Insulation is in. The walls started going up on Friday. Plastering will be done this week. According to the contractor, we’re about two weeks away from the hardwood floors going in (one of the final steps). According to the architect, we’re supposed to be picking out paint colors. So we have about six weeks till we’re out of here and in the house. Only, we’re going to be gone for ten of those days, which means we get back from our trip, and will have just five days to get out of the apartment…

Which brings me to my second stress. Our trip. We’re going to Israel. Yes, Israel. And I’m waffling big time on the trip. Everyone I know who’s ever been to Israel tells me I’m being silly and it’ll be fine. For starters, we’re going nowhere near the Gaza. For second, we’re going with a tour group (with our synagogue), so we’ll be on a tour bus with security on the bus. They’ll be constantly checking the security situation and revising our itinerary as needed. We won’t be on any public transportation at all. The biggest issue is that we won’t be allowed to do many of the things I really have enjoyed doing in the past (like shopping in the shuk. I’d been fantasizing about everything I was going to buy for our new home, but that’s totally out at this point). We leave in about four weeks. And four weeks in Middle East terms can really be a lifetime. For the first time ever, we bought travel insurance, which means up to 24 hours in advance of the trip, we can cancel and still get 75% of our money back. But I really don’t want to cancel. Adam’s never been and I’m anxious for him to see it. Israel is such an amazing country (I’ve been three times already, including a six-month stay on a kibbutz). But–and this is not an invitation for anyone get to political with me; I don’t do politics here–I’m feeling vaguely terrified. How do I decide whether or not to go? (And yes, it’s “me.” Adam really isn’t worried at all, he’s said, and he’s looking forward to the trip, as is the rest of our group.) I’m literally waking up in the middle of the night worried about taking my kids into a war zone. Yet every time a trip to Israel has been postponed (my sister missed out a trip in the ’80s), it’s been for naught. I am absolutely certain if I cancel the trip, I’ll seriously regret it. I am confident that once we get to Israel, it will all be fine. But I can’t stop my stomach from churning now.

So I’m trying to focus on other things. Like the marathon I have coming up in two weeks. And the craft projects I want to do as soon as we get into the house and I have easy access to my sewing machine. I’m officially addicted to craft blogs. And I’m thinking about organizing (starting with photos and ending with the kids’ toys in the new house). And packing boxes (I’m storing them in Beetle’s basement so there isn’t a mad rush when we get back from Israel). And Pie’s wedding. And the multitude of other minutiae that crop up.

And come March 1, I’ll be a sane person again. Relatively speaking, of course.

I have this evil cold that was given to me by my dear, darling children. Of course, they get a cold and keep running. I get a cold and I want to bury myself beneath a pile of blankets in my over-A.C.’d house, with a stack of magazines and a big bowl of chicken soup. So, because I don’t have an original thought in my head right now, other than, “Nyquil! Now!” here’s a little wrap for you of the past couple of weeks.

Our vacation: Did you know we went away? No, you didn’t because I oh-so-cleverly scheduled a post for while we were gone, just to keep you entertained (wasn’t that nice of me?). We took our third–and final (boo hoo!)–trip to the Wildflower Inn in Lyndonville, Vermont. It was as heavenly as ever and the kids loved going to “camp,” Adam and I loved having alone time, and it was nice to escape computers and work and room parent assignments and all that other good stuff. This is only our last year because the program we go to is for babies, toddlers, and preschoolers. And we’ll have but one preschooler next year.

The highlight for Pie was definitely her counselors. Oh, she found one who she fell in love with. Pie came back to the room on Tuesday afternoon.

Pie: I asked my counselor to paint my nails.
Me: What did she say?
Pie: She said, no. She said, ask your mommy.
Me: Does your mommy let you paint your nails?
Pie: No.
Me: When does Mommy say you can paint your nails?
Pie: When I’m three.
Me: And how old are you?
Pie: Two.
Me: Right, two. So no painting nails.

Of course, Miss Thang comes back very proudly from dinner, showing off bright purple-y nails.

Pie: Mommy, look!!
Me: What did Mommy say about painting your nails?
Pie: Mommy said no.
Me: And what did you tell your counselors?
Pie, with absolute innocent glee: I told them YES!

How could I get angry with that joy? We had a little to-do today when I went to paint her (toe)nails for the 4th of July. But I’m talking about the relaxation of vacation, so we’ll just not go there now. And it was relaxing: swimming, kayaking, massage, dinner sans kids, hiking, hot tub, swimming, batting cages (for Adam and Doodles), goofing off on the tennis court (for me and Pie), drinking, and a general good time was had by all.

Boot camp: Ever done anything like say, oh, skiing, and there’s some person who has the top-of-the-line everything–the professional goggles, the killer skiis, the aerodynamic skiing outfit–but is clearly a completely novice who doesn’t know he should point his skis down the hill? That was me, today. Boot camp went on a bike ride and I still had all my gear from back when I biked almost seriously. Back when riding was something I spent entire weekend days on; when I rode to work, from work, and then tossed in an extra ride at the end of the day just for good measure; back when I had money to burn and a Bianchi road bike.

I still have all that stuff. But do I have the biking body that I did in 2002, which as far as I can tell, was the last time I was on a bike? Again, let’s not go there. A friend was kind enough to do a tune-up for me on my hybrid (no way was I going with the clipless pedals of my road bike), but I showed up in my little biking shorts and my cute purple biking jersey. Thank goodness I left the fingerless gloves and groovy glasses at home. Because, man, are they wrong. You can totally forget how to ride a bike. “Wait, wait!” I kept asking. “I don’t remember! The bigger gear for going up the hills? Or down?” It was humiliating. But fun. And who knows? Maybe I’ll start biking again. Once I remember definitively what the big gear is for.

Movies: I’ve been working my way through the suggestions everyone gave me for flicks to watch (still open to more! Always welcome a good movie recommendation). But I want to give a particular shout-out to Lionness, because a movie she suggested, The Bubble, is one of the most thought-provoking movies I’ve ever seen.

My birthday: Adam outdid himself. I didn’t think he could do it, but he did. Got me my own personalized bowling shirt. Had my sister come up to surprise me. Arranged for his brother to babysit. Rented a limo “happy bus.” Stocked it with friends and beer and champagne. Took us all to Jamaica Plain for bowling and food and booze and cake at the Milky Way. And you know what? For once, I don’t have a single snarky thing to say. It was perfect.

And with that, I’m off to find the Nyquil. Ah, happy Nyquil. How I missed you all those years. Welcome home.

As you read this, I’m lying by the pool or perhaps I’m kayaking or maybe I’m enjoying a quiet dinner alone with my husband. Or, more likely, I’m begging the Pie to please go to sleep or I’m trying to convince Doodles that a week without TV is a good thing or I’m pleading with both my children to use their restaurant manners or I’m trying to slather sunscreen as Pie is running away screaming or Doodles is having a full scale meltdown because I won’t let him have a third afternoon cookie or Pie is having a meltdown just because she’s Pie… In other words, I’m on vacation (this entry coming from the wonder of preposting as I write it on Saturday night).

Of course, the week before vacation is always chaotic. Doodles had his end-of-year celebration and his teacher had asked me to put together a slide show for the parents–just a simple compilation on a c.d. that they could show in class and the parents could then take home. No problem, I said. I can do that I said. His teacher showed me the one from the year before and it was a straight-forward affair: lots of pictures and the parent had put on music like “Hey Hey We’re the Monkees” (Doodles room was the Kofefim Room, which is Hebrew for “monkies.”) Not bad, I thought. But… I can do better. Wouldn’t it be nice if… To make a tedious process short, three weeks, $167 in new memory, 12 hours of Adam’s time trying to keep my computer from crashing, I have a lovely 14 minute slide show that includes interviews with the kids, recordings of them singing, and a very short video. And the kicker? They loved it so much they want me to do it again next year for Pie’s class. Sigh. It’s official. I’ve turned into my mother.

Apropos of nothing, I just sucked Adam into watching Confessions of a Matchmaker. His exact words: “This is too good to not watch.”

I feel like we’ve turned a corner lately. Things with Pie are just getting better and easier. Her words are multiplying. She’s a lazy eater but she’s so darn cute abou it. “Feed you!” she demands as she hands me her fork; even finger foods she’d like to be served. If I’m not moving fast enough–trying to get dinner on the table, say–she demands, “Sit! I feed you!” She loves to play games now. She’ll walk out of a room, calling, “Bye bye! Bye bye!” And then she knocks on the door, comes back in laughing hysterically, kisses me, and says, “I missed you! Hi! Bye bye! Bye bye!”

I blantantly lied to my son. We went shopping for Adam’s Father’s Day gift. He’s not the greatest at keeping a secret, if you recall. We went to Bed, Bath and Beyond so I could pick out the real gift, but I told Doodles we were buying Daddy a blender. But then I felt bad because Doodles got really excited. “A blender? One that won’t make clumps? Because our blender makes clumps in my smoothies. How about this blender?” I felt terrible. But as far as I know he hasn’t figured out what we really got Adam and I hope he won’t be crushed when Adam opens up his non-blender gift in the morning.

All right. That’s enough. Let me get back to the hot tub. Or am I having my massage right now? Or am I trying to keep Pie from biting Doodles as he steals her toy? Something like that.