Archive for November, 2011

A letter in which I say things that no one else wants to say. Then I swear again. But I use ***s this time!

November 24, 2011 5 comments

Dear Evolution,

First, can I congratulate you on a job very well done? I mean, except for the odd design snafu here and there (you know what I’m referring to right? Where that one thing is too close to the other? Well if I have to spell it out for you…you know…where the windpipe is too close to the food tube? Ohhh…the other two things? Right. Well. Those too) you’ve done exceptionally well with what is, in essence, a bunch of cells, electricity, and (hopefully) a soul.

And I mean, I get it, I do. You force us into attempting monogamous pair-bonding for our entire adult lives despite all the contradictory hardwiring (bet you didn’t see modern medicine coming, did you? Effectively extending our lives and said monogamy for years…and…years…and….years. FUN!) because it takes at least two adult humans to get these infinitely complex, tiny little humans to adulthood. So for the most part it makes sense, it does.

But if I may be so bold as to ask – what the f**k? What the f**king f**kity f**k?

Can we start with childbirth? Can we? I say, yes, let’s. And I think that pretty much every woman who has every borne a child joins me in saying yet again…WHAT. THE. F**K. So with that in mind, can I make a suggestion? Just something to mull over when planning future human generations? I’m thinking something along the lines of an abdominal birthing flap thingie. And please, make it bigger than a walnut. You’d think it’s ridiculous that I even have to suggest that last bit, but there you go then.

Then there are the actual babies. My GOD (someone you don’t believe in I know, but some of us need something to pray to in the middle of another infernally endless sleepless night, and you’re not it), the eeeendless crying and weeping and wailing and screaming. And that’s just me. Honestly now, thinking back, wouldn’t it have made more sense to make them a little more self sufficient? And a little less floppy? It’s 3am and you haven’t slept in 72 hours and your arm loses feeling for a second and the little head flops back and I’m telling you, this parenting gig is some scary sh*t. I’m just saying. Maybe they can get a little…I dunno….firmer….sooner?

And not that you probably care or anything, but I’ve been wiping poo bums that are not attached to ME for almost 5 years now, and I see no end in sight. Again, something to think about when planning the next batch. Please, don’t get me wrong. I am endlessly, infinitely grateful for my two gorgeous, happy, healthy girls, and I thank God and the universe for them every day (and pray to get them to adulthood and beyond the same way). But I’m thinking maybe some sort of self cleaning mechanism?

And while I’m pretty sure I know you’re going to tell me exactly where I can file this, I still feel it’s my duty to remind you that no matter how good a job you’re doing, there’s always some room for improvement (something you have programmed our offspring to remind us of daily).

But again! Thanks for everything! Keep up the good work! And while you’re (probably not) listening,  I could do without the mosquitos.

Most sincerely,
Human number 3,968,003,732

Categories: Parenthood, Uncategorized

It’s morning and there is swearing

November 14, 2011 3 comments

Yesterday a friend posted on FB how she hates having to sort socks in winter.

Summer in Israel is mostly hellishly hot and humid but one of the perks is how quickly I can get the girls dressed and out the door in the morning – undies, sundress or t-shirt, shorts, sandals, and they’re off.

Winter, not so much. This is how it goes.

Is it a mild winter day? Or is it cold? Will it warm up in the afternoon? There are “ma’aver” clothes for spring and autumn – long sleeves and pants made out of thin cotton. Or do I put them in “footers” – thick, fleecy clothes (don’t ask me why they are called that). I think I’ll do layers. I’ll dress them in a ma’avar top with a sweater on top. Wait, what if it’s hot in the gan? Niv will take hers off if she’s hot, but will Shai’s teacher take hers off? Sometimes they don’t. I’ll tell Moran to remind them. But they’ll need to put it back on when she has her nap. I’ll tell him that too. I know he’ll forget. I better remind Nivi to take hers off if she’s hot. And put it back on if she’s cold. Ooof kibinifuck. I haven’t even started to dress them yet.

Right. I’ve decided what to dress them in. Now I’ve got to catch them. I grab a blurry Shai as she runs past me laughing and wrangle two tiny kicking legs into pants. I put two feet in the same pant leg. Oh for fucks sake. Ok, she’s dressed.

Plead with Niv to dress herself. Tell her that her cousin gets dressed all by herself. Niv tells me that she can dress herself just fine, she just doesn’t want to. I say that if she wants to go into first grade next year, she has to dress herself. She replies that when she goes into first grade, THEN she will dress herself. Kushilirabfuck. I’d rather do a televised presidential debate, drunk, than argue with this child. I dress her.

Socks. I plow through heaps of laundry. I feel a growl building in me. I shout to Moran who is, I dunno, what IS he DOING? for some help. He asks what I need. I say socks. He says, where should I look? Really? Really?

FOUND! Four socks go on four feet. I reach for  a sneaker and sand spills out. Bugger, I forgot to empty out their sneakers yesterday. Pour the sahara out of their sneakers. Four sneakers on four feet. Brush hair, ignoring cries of OW OW OW! that start before I even TOUCH their heads. Ponytails, clips, done. 

Remind Moran to take their bags.

Kisses goodbye….and they’re off.

I exhale, make a nice cup of coffee, sit down, and start with the easy part of my day: founding my start up.

Categories: Israel, Parenthood

Seeing red

November 4, 2011 Leave a comment

You just know. Sometimes you hear the bump or the crash and you know that your child is fine. Even if they’re screaming bloody murder, you know before you get to them that they’ll probably just have a small bump or a bruise or whatever and it’s no biggie. 

But other times…other times there’s that strange, hard-to-describe quality to the sound of your child colliding with something hard, and as you hit the ground at a dead run you know…you. just. know…there is going to be blood.

I fetched Niv early and took her to the bumper cars at Arena mall. I was all about good intentions (road to hell I know) – I just wanted to spend some one-on-one time with her. She was having a blast driving around like a little maniac – the rink was empty and she was doing great. But then for some reason she came on full speed towards the side of the rink and a split second of a heartbeat before the car crashed into edge she got distracted and let go of the steering. I heard the crack and as I ran towards her I knew I was going to see red, I just wasn’t sure where it would be coming from.

Her nose. Again. That poor little sweet nose has taken more than it’s fair share of bumps. At least it’s not another grey tooth. My God we are a classy bunch.

Categories: Parenthood

Gross parenting rule # 1

November 1, 2011 Leave a comment

If you see some chocolate on your clothes don’t touch it. It’s not chocolate.

Categories: Parenthood