A few days ago I was out with my son Zeve looking for a very specific version of a religious text that he needed for school. During the summer his school had been selling them but, as you know, we were off in the highlands of Scotland having a wonderful time and by the time we returned to Israel, all of the copies of the book were gone.
It's not like we couldn't get a copy of the book. Religious texts are available everywhere you turn -- this IS Israel, not suburban Alaska. The issue was that we wanted the same one that all the other kids in the class would be using. As a result, Zeve and I went out in search of the book.
As usual, the moment I left the house my cell phone started to ring. And as usual, it was Yael. I think she does it to drive me crazy. According to her, every time she calls it's an emergency.
Either way, she has created sort of a Crying Wolf situation which has resulted in me frequently ignoring her calls.
So this past week while Zeve and I were out scouring the city for a very specific version of a book he needed for school the next day, my cell phone kept ringing and ringing and ringing. And I kept ignoring it and ignoring it and ignoring it. I was busy on a mission of biblical proportion.
Okay, so we look everywhere for the book and we can't find it. We decide to go home and start calling around to older kids who might have had the book and don't need it anymore. And that's when things got interesting.
We walked into the house and there is Yael with her newly cut hair. Her bangs were now approximately a centimeter in length. They were sort of like the girl in the movie "Amelie" but scarier and definitely not as neatly done. She looked like Spikezilla and it was most upsetting because she is a cute little thing.
I almost fell off my feet when I saw her. I wasn't sure if I was going to cry or to scream. Worst of all I had to stay composed and act like it wasn't the catastrophe I thought it was. I mean, it could have been worse ... she was breathing and she had all of her important body parts (she was only short of hair).
This isn't the first time she has pulled this stunt. I had forgotten about the first time until one of my friends reminded me about it today after she noticed Yael's new do. The first time she decided to cut her hair herself, she had started on the sides but stopped at the back because she couldn't see what she was doing. I really thought she had learned her lesson after that scissor adventure but apparently not.
Therefore, to prevent anymore hair scares I have made a mental note to collect all the scissors in the house and hide them somewhere until she is old enough -- and vain enough -- to choose professional help when she needs it.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Monday, August 31, 2009
Twenty hours and counting
In approximately 20 hours all my children will be officially back at school. I am so excited that I can barely contain myself. Except, of course, for the fact that I am so completely and entirely exhausted from spending the past two months with them, that I don't think I could muster the energy to demonstrate my excitement.
For the past two months I have done little else other than wash the dishes that seem to reappear mere moments after the last round of dishes were neatly put away. I have done more laundry than the entire group of inmates in Cellblock Anything Anywhere. I have dropped off and picked up more children from more locations than I care to think about. I have run to the corner store for milk, cereal and fruit on a daily basis. And I have agreed to more stupid social plans that I can remember.
Now I have had it. As of today, everyone in my house under the age of 50 is in my way. My computer and kitchen sharing days are over. If you want something either go get it yourself or live without it. Yes, that includes food during the non-meal hours of the day.
If you want to play games on my computer because yours doesn't have a new enough graphics card -- too bad. If you need to get to the Country Club immediately -- start pedaling. If you even try to put something not really dirty into the dirty wash, I will find you and force you to wear it "dirty" for even more days. I will not pick you up and I will not drop you off. You have allowance -- take a cab. And if you don't take your key -- I hope you like living on the streets because I am not getting out of my chair to open the door for you yet again. (And do not knock on Lynn's door because she is also tired and she doesn't want to let you in either.)
I apologize if this all sounds cruel, but after 60 days of people yelling "Ema (mom, in hebrew) for every little thing, I just can't hack the sound of that word anymore. From now on, I will only be responding to: "Your Highness", "M'Lady" and such other such respectful terms -- and only from people who approach me slightly hunched over and looking conspicuously at the ground.
And do not try to use the Cellphone Loophole. I have all your phone numbers (and those of your firends) listed in my phone and I will consciously ignore you. That said, if you are at risk of losing a limb or an organ, call your father. He is much more sympathetic and no one bothers him all day so he isn't as mentally exhausted by all of you as I am.
Oh, a quick look at my watch tells me that I am down to 19 hours and 55 minutes.
In the meantime, until I have to get out of bed tomorrow morning to make sure you really do leave the house and go to school, I will be in my bedroom with the doors locked. And when you all leave tomorrow morning, I am going to party like its 1999 (which was the last time I had the energy to do so).
For the past two months I have done little else other than wash the dishes that seem to reappear mere moments after the last round of dishes were neatly put away. I have done more laundry than the entire group of inmates in Cellblock Anything Anywhere. I have dropped off and picked up more children from more locations than I care to think about. I have run to the corner store for milk, cereal and fruit on a daily basis. And I have agreed to more stupid social plans that I can remember.
Now I have had it. As of today, everyone in my house under the age of 50 is in my way. My computer and kitchen sharing days are over. If you want something either go get it yourself or live without it. Yes, that includes food during the non-meal hours of the day.
If you want to play games on my computer because yours doesn't have a new enough graphics card -- too bad. If you need to get to the Country Club immediately -- start pedaling. If you even try to put something not really dirty into the dirty wash, I will find you and force you to wear it "dirty" for even more days. I will not pick you up and I will not drop you off. You have allowance -- take a cab. And if you don't take your key -- I hope you like living on the streets because I am not getting out of my chair to open the door for you yet again. (And do not knock on Lynn's door because she is also tired and she doesn't want to let you in either.)
I apologize if this all sounds cruel, but after 60 days of people yelling "Ema (mom, in hebrew) for every little thing, I just can't hack the sound of that word anymore. From now on, I will only be responding to: "Your Highness", "M'Lady" and such other such respectful terms -- and only from people who approach me slightly hunched over and looking conspicuously at the ground.
And do not try to use the Cellphone Loophole. I have all your phone numbers (and those of your firends) listed in my phone and I will consciously ignore you. That said, if you are at risk of losing a limb or an organ, call your father. He is much more sympathetic and no one bothers him all day so he isn't as mentally exhausted by all of you as I am.
Oh, a quick look at my watch tells me that I am down to 19 hours and 55 minutes.
In the meantime, until I have to get out of bed tomorrow morning to make sure you really do leave the house and go to school, I will be in my bedroom with the doors locked. And when you all leave tomorrow morning, I am going to party like its 1999 (which was the last time I had the energy to do so).
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Foraging for kosher food
The worst moment of every day when traveling outside of Israel in areas not exactly overrun with Jews, is that moment when you realize that it's time to feed your kids. It's sort of like a modern day foraging experience. You can always eat fruits and vegetables, but let's be honest here. How many times in the course of a day do your children beg for cucumbers or bananas? Exactly.
And after the 20th bag of cut carrots, even they start to lose their je ne sais quoi.
When traveling in the UK there is the comfort of knowing that you can eat Cadbury products until you puke. But as delicious as all those variations on chocolate are, you can't honestly create a serious diet on Cadbury alone. Two days of nothing but Cadbury and you will start to feel like a bag of sugar dirt. (I know that there is no such thing as sugar dirt, but you know what I mean.)
Eventually the average person needs some protein. And that's where smoked salmon comes into the picture. I love smoked salmon. The problem is that after eating it pretty much daily for two weeks, it starts to grow off you. Add to that the fact that you have to eat it with really crappy mass produced bread -- the only brand of bread that is kosher in England -- and the smoke salmon starts to lose its taste. And add to that that you might have to eat it on a cheap plastic plate with cheap plastic cutlery, at a picnic table in the middle of nowhere, and the whole culinary experience has gone down the drain.
When I was a kid, smoked salmon was a treat. I grew up on the edge of the ocean (no, not literally) where someone was always smoking a salmon. I never expected to eat it 24/7 and now I know why. A treat is no longer a treat if it becomes part of your daily routine.
Paris was only slightly better because it's hard to beat a fresh bagette or butter croissant. But man cannot live on bagettes and buttered croissants alone unless man wants to gain a ton of weight and clog his arteries.
Which brings me to my grocery store in Ra'anana. Living in Israel for the past seven years, I have long since forgotten what is involved in being kosher outside of Israel. I have 20 aisles of kosher food at my finger tips in my small grocery store alone. I don't have to check the labels; I don't have to look for the kosher symbols; I don't need a degree in food chemistry just to buy a food item. In fact, I would actually have to go out of my way to find non-kosher food.
I once wandered into what I thought was a regular grocery store, only to pick up a can of lobster bisque near the entrance. My stupid first reaction was: "wow, how did they find a way to make a kosher lobster bisque?" It took me a good 30 seconds to figure out that I was in the only non-kosher grocery store in Ra'anana. So much for my temporary lobster thrill.
But the reality is not bad at all. When there is no unkosher food around, you don't even think about it. And after seven years of having more than enough choice, I have lost my creative foraging skills and I have learned to expect to eat at a real table.
And after the 20th bag of cut carrots, even they start to lose their je ne sais quoi.
When traveling in the UK there is the comfort of knowing that you can eat Cadbury products until you puke. But as delicious as all those variations on chocolate are, you can't honestly create a serious diet on Cadbury alone. Two days of nothing but Cadbury and you will start to feel like a bag of sugar dirt. (I know that there is no such thing as sugar dirt, but you know what I mean.)
Eventually the average person needs some protein. And that's where smoked salmon comes into the picture. I love smoked salmon. The problem is that after eating it pretty much daily for two weeks, it starts to grow off you. Add to that the fact that you have to eat it with really crappy mass produced bread -- the only brand of bread that is kosher in England -- and the smoke salmon starts to lose its taste. And add to that that you might have to eat it on a cheap plastic plate with cheap plastic cutlery, at a picnic table in the middle of nowhere, and the whole culinary experience has gone down the drain.
When I was a kid, smoked salmon was a treat. I grew up on the edge of the ocean (no, not literally) where someone was always smoking a salmon. I never expected to eat it 24/7 and now I know why. A treat is no longer a treat if it becomes part of your daily routine.
Paris was only slightly better because it's hard to beat a fresh bagette or butter croissant. But man cannot live on bagettes and buttered croissants alone unless man wants to gain a ton of weight and clog his arteries.
Which brings me to my grocery store in Ra'anana. Living in Israel for the past seven years, I have long since forgotten what is involved in being kosher outside of Israel. I have 20 aisles of kosher food at my finger tips in my small grocery store alone. I don't have to check the labels; I don't have to look for the kosher symbols; I don't need a degree in food chemistry just to buy a food item. In fact, I would actually have to go out of my way to find non-kosher food.
I once wandered into what I thought was a regular grocery store, only to pick up a can of lobster bisque near the entrance. My stupid first reaction was: "wow, how did they find a way to make a kosher lobster bisque?" It took me a good 30 seconds to figure out that I was in the only non-kosher grocery store in Ra'anana. So much for my temporary lobster thrill.
But the reality is not bad at all. When there is no unkosher food around, you don't even think about it. And after seven years of having more than enough choice, I have lost my creative foraging skills and I have learned to expect to eat at a real table.
Friday, August 28, 2009
It's the little moments that make the day
Before I complete my review of my Anglo-Franco vacation, I do want to mention a few highlights that made the trip what it was.
First, there was our unexpected rendezvous with our Israeli neighbours in the Scottish border town of Gretna Green. We really just stopped there to go to the washroom and have a quick peak at the town that Brits used to run away to if they wanted to get married at 16 rather than waiting to the English-approved age limit of 18. Frankly I can't imagine why anyone would want to do that, but that might be my narrow-mindedness rearing its head once again.
As we pulled up into the parking lot of the beautiful little village commercial center, Yael and I were just focused on finding the nearest toilet. The others lagged behind, which was fine because we were in a bladder-induced hurry. A few minutes later, after my boys had caught up with us, we were headed back to the car to continue on our way, when I heard someone with a very familiar voice calling out my name.
It didn't register at first because she was out of place in Gretna Green, but when I looked around, there was my friend and neighbour Caroline and her traveling crew. Now I like Caroline a lot at the most-normal of times, but I have to say that stumbling across her and her family on the border of Scotland and England was really exciting (and free fun at that!). It was difficult to leave them after our tea together.
The next thing that made the trip special for me was the unexpected raw beauty of the Scottish highlands and the English Lake District. I could have driven those crazy narrow, harrowing roads for days and just looked out the window.
The third event that sticks in my mind as most memorable was our evening at the theatre in London. Going to the theatre was a late decision recommended by other British friends living in Israel and I can't even imagine what a shame it would have been not to attend a show. We saw "Oliver" which is one of my favorite childhood movies, and it was better than I could have ever hoped for. We all left the theatre on a real high.
And the final -- and unexpected -- event that really left its mark on the trip was our last minute visit to Speakers Corner in Hyde Park. We went there as a lark a few hours before we had to leave for the airport. I thought the kids might enjoy it -- for about five minutes. However, I am happy to report that the ad-hoc speakers did not disappoint.
There are a lot of nuts out there who just want to share their views with the world. They don't care if they insult their audiences. And they surely don't care if they don't have any facts to back up their arguments. They just want to let it all out and as long as you don't take them too seriously, they are highly entertaining. Perhaps because it was Sunday all the speakers that we stopped to listen to were talking about God. Poor God. He gets a lot of undesirable and probably unwanted attention.
Heaven knows I am no authority on the word of God, but after spending 25 minutes listening to two yahoos from Texas interpret the importance of Israel as the home of Jesus Christ, you are left wondering where these people get their information. And best of all, they believe it with such furor that you have to think twice before taking them on. And if they don't have a reasonable answer to an audience question, they surely don't let that get in the way. They just insult you until you forget what you were asking in the first place.
And then there was the Reasonable Iman. He spoke calmly and had such a palatable view of the potential for peaceful co-existence of Islam, Christianity and Judaism, that I thought of abducting him and bringing him to Israel and then trying to have him overturn the "government" of Gaza. The problem of course, is that he had no idea what he was talking about in a real-politik sense. His ideas were lovely in theory -- it's just the nagging practice in reality that would have screwed him up.
So there you have it. Three weeks away. And at the end of the day, weather excluded, there is no place I would rather be than at home in Israel.
First, there was our unexpected rendezvous with our Israeli neighbours in the Scottish border town of Gretna Green. We really just stopped there to go to the washroom and have a quick peak at the town that Brits used to run away to if they wanted to get married at 16 rather than waiting to the English-approved age limit of 18. Frankly I can't imagine why anyone would want to do that, but that might be my narrow-mindedness rearing its head once again.
As we pulled up into the parking lot of the beautiful little village commercial center, Yael and I were just focused on finding the nearest toilet. The others lagged behind, which was fine because we were in a bladder-induced hurry. A few minutes later, after my boys had caught up with us, we were headed back to the car to continue on our way, when I heard someone with a very familiar voice calling out my name.
It didn't register at first because she was out of place in Gretna Green, but when I looked around, there was my friend and neighbour Caroline and her traveling crew. Now I like Caroline a lot at the most-normal of times, but I have to say that stumbling across her and her family on the border of Scotland and England was really exciting (and free fun at that!). It was difficult to leave them after our tea together.
The next thing that made the trip special for me was the unexpected raw beauty of the Scottish highlands and the English Lake District. I could have driven those crazy narrow, harrowing roads for days and just looked out the window.
The third event that sticks in my mind as most memorable was our evening at the theatre in London. Going to the theatre was a late decision recommended by other British friends living in Israel and I can't even imagine what a shame it would have been not to attend a show. We saw "Oliver" which is one of my favorite childhood movies, and it was better than I could have ever hoped for. We all left the theatre on a real high.
And the final -- and unexpected -- event that really left its mark on the trip was our last minute visit to Speakers Corner in Hyde Park. We went there as a lark a few hours before we had to leave for the airport. I thought the kids might enjoy it -- for about five minutes. However, I am happy to report that the ad-hoc speakers did not disappoint.
There are a lot of nuts out there who just want to share their views with the world. They don't care if they insult their audiences. And they surely don't care if they don't have any facts to back up their arguments. They just want to let it all out and as long as you don't take them too seriously, they are highly entertaining. Perhaps because it was Sunday all the speakers that we stopped to listen to were talking about God. Poor God. He gets a lot of undesirable and probably unwanted attention.
Heaven knows I am no authority on the word of God, but after spending 25 minutes listening to two yahoos from Texas interpret the importance of Israel as the home of Jesus Christ, you are left wondering where these people get their information. And best of all, they believe it with such furor that you have to think twice before taking them on. And if they don't have a reasonable answer to an audience question, they surely don't let that get in the way. They just insult you until you forget what you were asking in the first place.
And then there was the Reasonable Iman. He spoke calmly and had such a palatable view of the potential for peaceful co-existence of Islam, Christianity and Judaism, that I thought of abducting him and bringing him to Israel and then trying to have him overturn the "government" of Gaza. The problem of course, is that he had no idea what he was talking about in a real-politik sense. His ideas were lovely in theory -- it's just the nagging practice in reality that would have screwed him up.
So there you have it. Three weeks away. And at the end of the day, weather excluded, there is no place I would rather be than at home in Israel.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Paris, not the way I remember it
This was my third trip Paris. I have been there as a back-packer. I have been there on someone else's very generous tab. And now I have been there as a traveling parent. Let me add that three times is enough and I have no intentions of going there again.
Every time I mention that to people since we returned to Israel, they all say the same thing: "Oh, you obviously didn't do Paris properly. You definitely have to go back again." What didn't I do properly? We walked the Champs Elysees to the Arc d'Triomphe. We admired the stained glass windows in Notre Dame Cathedral. We watched street performers from the steps of the Basillica. We strolled along the Seine. Some of us (not me) went to the top of the Eiffel Tower. We ate fresh bagettes and croissants. So tell me, what precisely did I not do properly?
You know what I think? I think that all the Paris admirers should continue going to Paris and I think that I should choose other vacation locations.
Now before I explain why I didn't like Paris, let me first acknowledge that the city is home to the best collection of museums and architecture of any city I have ever visited. It is also home to some of the most tastefully dressed regular people I have ever seen on the streets and in the subways. And it is definitely home to the best fresh-baked bagettes and croissants I have ever tasted. And for me, it pretty much ends there.
Paris feels dirty -- omnipresently so -- and pandemonium-like. The entire time I was there I felt like I was caught up in an uncontrollable wave of people and activity and that all I could do was just hold on and go for the ride. This may be fun for some people, but I am not built for that sort of whimsy.
Everywhere I looked there were groups of police officers either heading towards a crime scene or leaving a crime scene. I kept looking around for creeps and criminals. I don't mean the big types of criminals, I mean the little petty thieves who exist invisibly among us. I was watching my bag, but I also had to keep my eyes on the streets and on my kids.
And at the risk of sounding like a narrow-minded fool, I rarely saw any white people. Whatever happened to all those native Parisians of European descent? Where did they go? You know the ones ... the descendants of the proletariat we first met in Les Miserables!!! What happened to Collette's people? I am not so small-minded that I expect large cities to be homogeneous, but the streets of London (and on a smaller scale, the streets of Toronto) still suggest that there might have once been a caucasian majority in the city. I doubt that Napoleon would even recognize the city today.
I also wasn't keen about the fact that, at least in one of the Jewish quarters, the price of the food if you chose to eat inside the restaurant was double what it cost if you settled for sitting on a street curb or window ledge and eating your food there.
Talk about personal conflict: my cheap gene challenging my orderly gene. The conflict verged on unbearable. Most of the time my cheap gene won out -- and for those of you who know me well that won't surprise you. However, now and then my need for order outweighed it and I am still reeling from the trauma of the resulting restaurant tabs!
Nope, sorry, Paris is not the way I remember it and as a result, I am handing over the Paris baton to the people who still view it as a wonderful place to go. I, on the other hand, will be elsewhere eating inside a restaurant at a price I can live with and finding other museums that wil just have to be good enough.
Every time I mention that to people since we returned to Israel, they all say the same thing: "Oh, you obviously didn't do Paris properly. You definitely have to go back again." What didn't I do properly? We walked the Champs Elysees to the Arc d'Triomphe. We admired the stained glass windows in Notre Dame Cathedral. We watched street performers from the steps of the Basillica. We strolled along the Seine. Some of us (not me) went to the top of the Eiffel Tower. We ate fresh bagettes and croissants. So tell me, what precisely did I not do properly?
You know what I think? I think that all the Paris admirers should continue going to Paris and I think that I should choose other vacation locations.
Now before I explain why I didn't like Paris, let me first acknowledge that the city is home to the best collection of museums and architecture of any city I have ever visited. It is also home to some of the most tastefully dressed regular people I have ever seen on the streets and in the subways. And it is definitely home to the best fresh-baked bagettes and croissants I have ever tasted. And for me, it pretty much ends there.
Paris feels dirty -- omnipresently so -- and pandemonium-like. The entire time I was there I felt like I was caught up in an uncontrollable wave of people and activity and that all I could do was just hold on and go for the ride. This may be fun for some people, but I am not built for that sort of whimsy.
Everywhere I looked there were groups of police officers either heading towards a crime scene or leaving a crime scene. I kept looking around for creeps and criminals. I don't mean the big types of criminals, I mean the little petty thieves who exist invisibly among us. I was watching my bag, but I also had to keep my eyes on the streets and on my kids.
And at the risk of sounding like a narrow-minded fool, I rarely saw any white people. Whatever happened to all those native Parisians of European descent? Where did they go? You know the ones ... the descendants of the proletariat we first met in Les Miserables!!! What happened to Collette's people? I am not so small-minded that I expect large cities to be homogeneous, but the streets of London (and on a smaller scale, the streets of Toronto) still suggest that there might have once been a caucasian majority in the city. I doubt that Napoleon would even recognize the city today.
I also wasn't keen about the fact that, at least in one of the Jewish quarters, the price of the food if you chose to eat inside the restaurant was double what it cost if you settled for sitting on a street curb or window ledge and eating your food there.
Talk about personal conflict: my cheap gene challenging my orderly gene. The conflict verged on unbearable. Most of the time my cheap gene won out -- and for those of you who know me well that won't surprise you. However, now and then my need for order outweighed it and I am still reeling from the trauma of the resulting restaurant tabs!
Nope, sorry, Paris is not the way I remember it and as a result, I am handing over the Paris baton to the people who still view it as a wonderful place to go. I, on the other hand, will be elsewhere eating inside a restaurant at a price I can live with and finding other museums that wil just have to be good enough.
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