My baby went to Tel Aviv

When my son Ari was small, about three or four years old, and we still lived in Toronto, there was a park a block from our house that he used to enjoy. By the time he was four, he also liked to walk to the park but we lived on a small street with no sidewalks which meant he had to walk on the curb or the edge of the street to get there and there was no way I was going to agree to that.

I always wanted to carry him around the corner but Chaim insisted that he should walk. As a result, I refused to take him to the park. And when Chaim took him, they set off together on the street, with me sitting almost apoplectic on the front step of our house just waiting for the worst.

Chaim has always contended that if I was a single parent that none of our children would be able to walk because I would have simply carried them everywhere. And of course, by extension, because my children are fortunate enough to have a father, they can run, walk, swim, play basketball, etc...

Let me just say that I do not accept this family view.

Unfortunately, yesterday, I was put to the test.

Ari, who is just about 14 now, came rushing in to the house taking his clothes off and speaking into his cell phone at warp speed. Ten years ago that behaviour from him wouldn't have surprised me but now that he is a teenager, he only moves in reluctant slow-mo as if every step requires all the energy that he can possibly muster.

Not so yesterday. Because yesterday his friends came up with a plan that required immediate implementation. They decided to get on a bus and go to Tel Aviv.

I was offered two minutes to give my input, although I noticed that he never stopped getting ready all the "while" I was thinking about it. I really didn't want to let him go but all I could think of what Chaim saying: "If it was up to you, you would still be carrying him around."

So, in a moment of what could have either been considered temporary parental insanity or the realization that he is growing up, I let him go.

Once I realized who he was going with, I have to admit that I felt much better. I can't speak for the boys, but the girls were actually girls that I suspect have more than an ounce of common sense each.

I didn't call him once all day. I just trusted that everything would be fine. However, at 7:00 p.m. I finally decided that I had had enough and dialed his cell, which of course, was off. Why do we give them cell phones if they only plan to answer at their leisure?

I'm actually quite proud of myself because even when I couldn't get him on the phone I didn't think that something bad had happened. I just thought that he wasn't answering his phone. And lo and behold, I was right. He arrived home a few minutes later -- having blown 120 shekels in the HaCarmel market on the most ridiculous hat, cotton Hawaiian drawstring pants and cheap sun glasses.

And more important, he got there and back by himself, and had fun with only the involvement of his equally naive friends. I guess they all stayed suitably close to the curb.

Driving the porcelain bus to mom

Why do most kids wake their mothers when they aren't feeling well? And why, when they can't sleep, do they feel obliged to wake their mothers and tell them -- and then ask them to push over so that they can get it? Why don't kids, in general, wake their fathers?

Last night at around 2:30 a.m. I heard someone walking around. Within seconds the night crawler speed walked into our bedroom, totally surpassing Chaim and made a quick right around the bed to my side. By then I was already awake, but I was trying to fake being asleep.

Tap, tap, tap.

"What's wrong Yael?" (I spend a lot of time asking that question.)

"My stomach hurts and I have to throw up now."

I have tried to train her to throw up first -- preferably in the toilet or at least a waste paper basket -- and then come and get me. So far, I have a success rate of zero. For some reason it is more logical to waste the few remaining moments of pre-barfdom to come and announce your intentions so that there is an audience for the big event.

From my perspective, who the hell wants an audience at such an uncool moment? However, Yael does not subscribe to this school of thought. And as a result, most vomit explodes onto my bed or my bedroom floor. Of course, the vomiter is too busy feeling lousy after the event to do anything but sit or lie down in a catatonic state. Therefore, the spectator -- usually me -- gets the priviledge of cleaning up.

Oh yes, the vomiter feels bad about it. But, hey, what can you expect post strenuous lurch?

I wouldn't mind so much if only, now and then, when the urge to drive the porcelain bus became unavoidable, that the child in question should wake up his or her father and let him get involved in all the fun.

In my house, Chaim just sleeps through all the highlights of the program while I spend the remainder of the night keeping the patient company either in the washroom or his or her bedrooom. Chaim wakes up bright eyed and bushy tailed the next morning and I spend the day walking around like a zombie.

The truth is that when I was a kid I did the same thing. I never once considered waking my father who was only going to wake up so startled (because no one ever woke him up) that his shocked reaction would have superseded the real issue: that I felt sick or I couldn't sleep. My mother, on the other hand, woke up silently and effortlessly as if she had been lying there expecting me for hours.

Therefore, I've decided that the next time I feel sick, I am going to go from room to room and wake everyone up. Of course, I am going to leave them all sitting there in a semi-conscious state because nothing will change the fact that I prefer privacy at such moments. But at least then they can all be mom for a moment.