We apologize for the long absence. We got slowed down last week by right transient synovitis. It's a real thing. Look it up. Thank God, the synoviter in question (Nadav) was back to his usual bouncy self after two days.
So Friday evening, post-candlelighting, kids are having playdates with friends in the building, aka their Downstairs Dopplegangers. Everything is going along swimmingly. Boys are running around making shooty noises, girls making chatty noises, etc. etc. Dinner time comes, and no one wants the playdate to end. So we decide to split the kids - we took the boys, downstairs got the girls.
Now, in theory, in principle, ideally, I am opposed to sending a child away for Shabbat dinner. Because in my mind, family dinners look like this:
We talk about our week, the parsha, what the kids are learning in school and gan.
There is quality time.
We reconnect as a family. There is gentle banter, discussion, give and take, laughter.
Everyone compliments the chicken.
(So what if it's the same chicken I made last Shabbat. And the one before that. It's just as delicious every single week.)
In reality, family dinners look like this:
"S/He started it!"
Or, if they are getting along, they get their crazy on, running around the dining room table shouting random words:
"Jaaa-koooooo-zeeee! Jakoozee jakoozee jakoozee! Jaaa-kooooo-zeeeeee!"
And the floor is covered in rice.
Not that we can't have a successful family dinner. But on Friday night, I realized it's okay, even nice, to shake things up once in a while. Everyone enjoyed their dinner with their adoptive-family-for-the-evening.
The next day, we went back to our regularly scheduled families. And we did talk about what happened in school and gan and had in-depth discussions about Harry Potter (which I am reading to Ariella now. Wingardium leviosa!) And, yes, there was craziness and button-pushing and rice all over the floor.
But everyone did compliment the chicken.
The granola of my discontent
1 day ago