I would like to take this special opportunity to wish a HUGE, ALL-CAPS MAZEL TOV (YOU LIKE THAT, DADZ?) to Risa "Commentor Extraordinaire" Levi (and her hubby and son) on the birth of a brand new bouncing baby boy! (Actually, make sure NOT to bounce him. They'll probably have you watch a video about that before you leave the hospital.) The entire staff of aliyahbyaccident and all your fellow Loyal Readers wish you lots of blove (that's blog love) and hope that you will raise him to Torah, chuppah, ma'asim tovim, and Loyal Readership.
It seems the results of our informal poll - include a last-minute mail in vote - were unanimous. Eat the pits, people. And, in good news, the heat wave is supposed to break tomorrow! Ya-hooo!
Tonight, Ariella is at a birthday party. I got a phone call from a friend's mom, making sure Ariella was going because her daughter was nervous about the party. These friends are olim chadashim - even chadasher than we are, as they moved this summer - and her daughter is, obviously, not so comfortable with the Hebrew yet. The mom said, "I think I may go and stay with her, because she's really shy and apprehensive about it." I responded, "Do what you must, but be forewarned: Israeli birthday parties are like shwarma. Accept that it's good and don't ask what went into it."
And so I give you: Things I've learned from a year's worth of birthday parties:
1. Israeli moms are part of a secret conspiracy to turn little Israeli girls into a formidable Princess Army. At each party, Ariella creates another piece of princess paraphanalia. A sash at one, a tiara at another, a sceptor at a third. (She's not home yet, but I can only assume that she'll be bringing a life-size throne. Or a prince.) Watch out, world. The Princesses are COMING! And they will show NO MERCY!
2. When I drop Ariella off at the inevitable small Israeli apartment that will soon host at least 20 of the girl's classmates, friends, siblings, cousins, and neighbors, the birthday girl is decked out in a beautiful dress, with various hoojies decorating her hair. The girls are giggling with each other. The room is decorated in lots of pink. Pristine art supplies line the table. Tonight, there was even a professional princess-for-hire at the party!
3. When I pick Ariella up, there is glitter glue smeared on the walls. Glitter crunches underfoot as you walk in. Glitter pieces are stuck in the girls' hair, and the girls are either running around in sugar-induced euphoria, or sitting down and staring at the floor in a sugar-withdrawal stupor. Empty pizza boxes litter the floor. The birthday girl's little sister is in tears, and the birthday girl herself is nowhere to be found.
4. Ariella proudly shows me the newest addition to her princess collection, and the glittery makeup adorning her face. "Isn't it pretty, Mommy?"
5. We are handed a piece of cake with gooey frosting to take home. Usually, Yaakov scores a piece as well. This way, they are both covered with pink ooze and chocolate crumbs upon our arrival at the homestead.
Tonight, our intrepid mom actually texted me from the party and said, "Um, I think this bowl of high-fructose corn syrup IS our children's dinner." And then later: "There was a lot of princessy stuff going on. My daughter didn't want her face covered in makeup!"
Sigh. I did try to warn her. Hopefully next time she will be able to send her daughter off to the great princess-y beyond, pick her up two hours later, and remain blissfully unaware of what transpired in between. What happens at princess parties, stays at princess parties.
The T-Shirt Paradox
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