A Haiku for Barack

As luck would have it
You have tiny shoes to fill.
But the world watches...

The music from the innauguration said it clear as day for me. It was a beautiful rising melody combining many musical styles, played by a Jewish violinist, a Chinese cellist, a Black clarinetist and a Latina pianist. It was dripping in hope. But there were a few minor keys thrown in for good measure, as if to say - sure we made it happen and we got to this important day. And we should soak up all of the joy for the moment. But be mindful of the road and hard work ahead.

But with the cease fire in Gaza and an inauguration like today's, I am full of hope.

ee i ee i OH!

Things are heating up in Gaza and I feel compelled to write my opinions, however politically incorrect, but I just can't muster up the fire to do it right now. Maybe tomorrow. Instead some light-hearted stories about language missteps that months and years later still have us laughing.

We're raising bi-lingual kids so everyday we speak in a mishmash of Hebrew and English peppered with a little Spanish. It is California after all, si? Many of our friends are Hebrew-speaking and while most have an impressive command of English, now and again someone will have a funny story about a pronunciation, spelling or spoken error. And then we chuckle and remember all of our past mistakes from living in or traveling to other countries. I always tell the story of how, when I was house-sitting in Santiago, Chile I had my boyfriend over and some other friends and explained to them how I had accidentally fallen in the shower and that's why I was so grumpy. Silence. And then someone changed the subject. An hour later we're doing dishes and I mention how when I fell in the shower it totally knocked the wind out of me to which Diego, the boyfriend, replied I'm not sure you're using the right verb…he was being polite, like a good Chilean. I had apparently told all of his friends how I took a dump in the shower. Of course, they just figured that since I was American I must be very "open" and willing to share all kinds of weird and inappropriate details about my life with total strangers. Nice one.

Another favorite was about a friend of a friend who got on a bus in Israel and asked the driver if she could put her suitcase in his ass. As opposed to underneath the bus. She only missed it by one preposition. The driver was apparently very amused and happy to accommodate.

A few weeks ago Israeli friends of ours were packing up to move from Berkeley to Cambridge, Mass for a post-doc position and had been in the process of selling most everything and packing the rest. They told us that they'd posted a bunch of things on Craigslist including their changing table. Everything had sold quickly but still no one had written about the changing table (and matching sheet). So I could already tell where this was going because my husband and siblings-in-law are notoriously bad spellers and often insert an "i" in place of long "e" sound as if they were writing in Spanish (get it, mi amigo?). Apparently it was only after they reposted the listing that they realized they'd written: Changing table and pad for sale with matching shit.

And the more I thought about the context, the more I was tickled by the whole thing. It was Berkeley after all. Everyone's all about earth friendly and carbon neutral and thus buying everything second-hand. Less waste! Less power to the man! And then to ensure the authenticity of the second-hand purchase you have the matching shit as your proof. Sure, we got it on craigslist. See the matching shit? Organic. Oh, I kill me.

I also had a good laugh thinking about what the Chileans would have had to say (or not) about that one. Although they likely would have written it exactly the same.

Mostly the best of times

We spent our winter vacation in Santa Fe, New Mexico with my brother-in-law's family. My husband's parents and sister also flew in from Israel so we were all together for the first time in a while. All in all a terrific trip. Here are the highlights and a few lowlights lest you think that my kids, imbued with the spirit of the holidays, were angelic. Not the case.

Highlights:

1. An incident free flight out with our two kids. No one screamed about not wanting to wear a seat belt or peed in their pants or incessantly kicked the passenger in front of us.
   
2. Traveling around Santa Fe, the eleven of us, in a giant Ford Sports Mobile. Yes, my brother-in-law has one of these and while we very much enjoy making fun of him for it, we very much enjoyed being together in this giant white monstrosity.
   
3. Getting schooled by my son and nephew about who is Jewish and who is Christian and who celebrates Hanukah and who celebrates Christmas. Obviously we need not have worried about confusing the kids. They knew better than us.
   
4. Pin the light on the menorah and other fun games and crafts prepared by Savta and doda (aunt) Dana.
   
5. The line of the week delivered by my 2.5 year old niece: "I'm not tired mommy. Just lazy."
   
6. The time-honored tradition of feeding the elders their vitamins. This is my son's favorite activity - helping my mother-in-law take her vitamins every morning by dropping them in the yogurt for her to fish out and swallow.
   
7. Sledding. Nothing beats tri-generational sledding.
   
8. Double date night at the Indian restaurant while Saba and Savta watched the four offspring.
   
9. Pool time at the community center. My son actually dove under water to fetch a toy (in two feet of water) despite his near paralyzing fear.
   
10. My father-in-law singing all 17 verses of Maoz Tsur (well maybe there are only like four verses - I'm not sure) every single night of Hanukah.
    
11. A girls' snow trek up the arroyo with my two amazing sisters-in-law.
    
12. Gazing at the new moon, Saturn, Jupiter and Mercury in the night sky, lined up near the horizon, as explained by my amateur astronomer father-in-law.

Lowlights:

1. My son waking up every morning unwilling to talk to anyone. I feel shy this morning. What else is knew.
   
2. Watching "The Duplex". I should qualify this by saying that it was obviously nice for all of the adults to sit around and watch a movie together but this was one of the worst movies I have ever seen. Horrible.
   
3. Taking the family picture. It's twenty degrees outside and nearing dusk so my brother-in-law sets up the tripod and everyone stands there freezing waiting for my son and me to come out except that my son suddenly can think of no worse fate than to stand for a family photo and refuses to go outside. So I threaten to leave and he shrieks. Then I leave and he nearly has a seizure. Finally I go inside and forcibly put on his shirt and jacket and drag him outside wailing for the goddamn photo where everyone is smiling (albeit blue) except my kid who's beet red and sobbing.
   
4. My son crying for five minutes (though it felt like twenty) on our descent into SFO because he wants to suddenly lie down in his "cave" - the floor beneath our seats where he generally sleeps during flights - but he cannot because the seatbelt sign in now alight. Tough shit.

And to all a good night.

A Great Miracle Happened Here

I know many of you have been perched on your inbox for an update about the holiday pageant. So sorry to have left you hanging out here for the last two weeks wondering…did they sing? Did they cry? Pout? Shout? Flail on the ground in a heap of red and green holiday-wear? In fact both kids were outstanding. My daughter went first. She didn't notice me (that was intentional) so she just stood with everyone in the line wearing her reindeer headband and shaking her jingle bells to the music of Feliz Navidad. She looked a little perplexed but she didn't cry. She didn't sing either, but since she doesn't talk it wasn't a huge disappointment. Then there were some other classes and finally the PreK kids. I was a ball of nerves. I was also trying to hold my antsy daughter and videotape the whole thing which was kind of a pain in the ass. The kids walked out and found their tape to stand on. My son was looking around for me so I waved to get his attention - potentially my downfall. He started to try to get to me through a sea of parents but I shushed him back to his spot. He held it together. And then the music started and so did their first number - a little interpretive dance I think. Not sure. But there he was doing all the moves, looking left and right to be in sync with his classmates. He even cracked a smile. And then it was the big "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" number. That's when a star was born. He sang, he danced. He had a big smile. He was charming, careful to stay near his tape marker. A natural performer. And there I was mouthing the words like the freak stage mom that I am. Yikes. I didn't know I had it in me.

Then after the performance there was the opportunity to go have a picture with Santa which I wasn't super excited about - namely because of the long line but also because this is the first holiday season when I'm finally having to explain Christmas and Hanukah and why his cousins on both sides celebrate both holidays and we only celebrate Hanukah. But I decided I wasn't going to make a big deal about it so we stood in line and by the time we got to the front, my kids were too scared to sit with Santa. And then it turns out that Santa was the Jewish Venezuelan preschool owner's sixteen-year-old son. He threw out a few Hebrew phrases to gain my kids' trust but they were having none of it. Anyway, we left the place aglow with pageant pride, ever wary of Hebrew-speaking Santas…

Highlights from our week with family in Santa Fe up next…

You Better Not Shout. You Better Not Cry.

The annual preschool holiday pageant is coming up and I'm torn whether to go or not. She's torn? What an awful mom! Who wouldn't want to see their kids dressed up like reindeer?! Let me explain. I'm dying to go. I went the first year, when my son was two. I sent him to school dressed in a white sweatshirt and black pants as instructed. When I came back later to watch the production I spied him grinning and wearing a top hat with giant black buttons on his belly. My little Frosty the Snowman. I should have taken the shot right then. But no, instead I waved, "Hi sweetie!" That was it. He started bawling. The show is starting and all of the other two year-olds are marching on stage singing Frosty the Snowman (or at least standing there, holding hands and swaying.) My son is shrieking like a mermaid. I scoop him up. So much for the pageant picture. Maybe next year.

Last year we avoided the agony altogether by taking a vacation. We left before winter break started so I missed the opportunity to watch my son prance around like Rudolph. Or rather sob and throw a tantrum the minute he saw me.

So this year, I'm in a quandary. Should I go? He's been singing Santa Claus is Coming to Town for the last month and waving his finger around. (Sing it with me now: you better not shout, you better not cry…) If only that was a sure thing—no shouting and no crying. Maybe now that he's four he'll be able to hold his ground in front of the parent paparazzi. I don't blame him. We're like a sea of smiling, nodding, best-intentioned crazy people. I'm sure it's intimidating. All I want is for him to enjoy himself. Who am I kidding? All I want is for him not to be that kid. There's always one in the lot. The one that's not singing. The one that's crying or sitting down or has fingers up both nostrils. It's usually my kid. Well, que sera sera. All I can do is send him in his red shirt and hope for the best.

The Perfect Storm

And I'm not weathering it well. In fact, I am having a major come-apart. So if you read about our Thanksgiving weekend you know that we were hit from behind by a drunk driver which turned into a serious pain in the neck. Literally. Two days later I found myself at a chiropractor's office. Then the next day I had a previously scheduled minor surgery to remove what was left of a mole on my upper abdomen, determined by my dermatologist to contain some funky cells. This visit would require stitches. So she cuts everything out and sews me up with six stitches.

Now when I go back to the chiropractor there's not a ton they can do since it's painful for me to lay on my belly. Meanwhile my neck pain has subsided because my belly is so sore. That's good right? But then I've been so careful not to further tweak my neck or pull out any stitches on my abdomen, I throw out my lower back. Now my belly is hurting less, but I can hardly walk. Maybe I should feel lucky that my pain receptors can only focus on one thing at a time.

This happened once before (throwing out my back). It was ten years ago. So what did I do? I called in sick. I stayed home for three days. I slept and read all day with a cozy hot water bottle relaxing my back muscles. It was delightful. What am I doing this time around? Let's see. I'm lifting 60 pounds of children into my car and wrenching over to secure their seatbelts. I'm sitting at my desk all day typing. I'm putting my two year old in and out of her high chair. I'm making dinner, doing the dishes, folding laundry, straightening the house and watching The Berenstain Bears with my kids (that part's actually nice - although I can barely get out of the couch once I'm in there). Indeed my husband is doing more than his share, but there's just so much. It's enough for three people.

So how is my back, four days later? Worse. And how does that make me feel? Grumpy and resentful. That is why this morning when I was trying to get my squirrely kids out of the house I snapped at them—even my daughter who shines sunlight from her ass most of the time. I was all bent over and twisted trying to get her diaper on and his pants on and they were whining and crying so I just barked at them which made them cry more. It was awful. I'm just in so much pain and everything I have to do for them causes more pain. And all of it together—the accident, the neck, the surgery, the stitches, the back, not to mention the stress of figuring out which elementary school to send my son next year or if even to send him at all—has me coming apart at the seams. Specifically my newest seam, the one three inches above my belly button. Stitches come out Friday.

Thankful

Even though Thanksgiving is last week's news I wanted to update everyone on the "what I'm thankful for" placemat that my son created in preschool this year. You may remember, though I doubt it, that last year he wrote on his placemat that he's thankful for his black car. The other kids wrote that they were thankful for their mommies and daddies and other, slightly more meaningful entities. Not wanting to relive the humiliation I coached him all year so that when Thanksgiving came around again he would write on his placemat (and these things are laminated so there's no making any changes) that he was mostly thankful for mommy and aba. Well I didn't actually coach him—but I clearly should have. This year he wrote that he was thankful for…drum roll…chicken nuggets and dumplings. What am I doing wrong here? At least I feed him, albeit processed food.

But then, it all came full circle when, on the Saturday after Thanksgiving, we were driving home from a little lake by our house. We stopped at a red light and a drunk woman in a Prius plowed into our car at 30 miles an hour. We're all fine, though somewhat shaken by the experience. Apparently my son had it right all along. You bet your ass I'm thankful for my black car too. The Prius was totaled and our Passat wagon had a measly dent in the back. Thanksgiving took on new meaning this year.