Toddlers: They Cannot Tell a Lie

Scene I: Nadav whacking an older sibling with a toy. I remove toy from his hands. Cue gloating (older sib) and crying (Nadav).

Me: Nadav, you can't use your toys to hit.

[Sniffles]

Me: Do you want the toy back?

Nadav: כן (Yes)

Me: If I give you the toy, are you going to hit [sibling's name, probably Yaakov] with it?

Nadav [solemn nod]: כן

Scene II: Nadav has scampered away from me during the Bedtime Triathalon (PJs - Pee - Teeth!) I find him in Donny's office, eyeing the bag of the American M&M's he (Donny) is supposed to bring into work. We are ever so slowly whittling away at the supply. Note to Donny's colleagues: What candy?

[Nadav looks guiltily at me.]

Nadav: אמא תלך! (Mommy, go away! Ed. note: For those keeping score, the conjugation mistake is all his.)

Me: Okay [as I leave, I move the candy bag out of reach.]

Nadav: לא!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (Noooooo!!!)

Me: Did you want me to leave them there so you can eat them after I left?

Nadav [bursts into frustrated tears]: כן!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So, toddlers, they may not give you privacy (although, who doesn't enjoy an audience while they shower?). And they definitely do not give you peace of mind (No, please don't show me how you slide around on one leg in the bath). But at least you can count on them for total honesty.

Fun at the Dentist!

Oh, my poor, poor aliyahbyaccident blog. It's gone from being the beloved first child to the neglected ... first child. (Yes, in our house, we neglect all the children equally.)

Now that I'm a world-famous blogger for Jewish Values Online and Times of Israel (in which "world" = my FB friends and "famous" = some people know who I am and don't even cross the street when they see me coming), I have little time to dedicate to my first love.

But I'm here now, with some sad news.

I have a cavity. My first one, ever. At not-quite-34 years, The Streak has ended. (Cal called to offer me his sympathies. And if you don't get that joke, then clearly you did not grow up in Baltimore in the '90s. Which is a shame, because we had Chapps back then.)

The saddest part is not that the streak is over, or that they are going to stick needles in my mouth (I'm going to have to take all the soothing advice that I dole out to my children during their dental exams. I may even hold my own hand. But you know what? It is soooo much easier to be the doler than the dolee. Especially when needles are aiming at a part of your mouth that should only feel soft soft things.)

No, the saddest part is that I have to go back. I have to make another appointment. When I innocently asked, "So are you going to fill it now or do I need to come back?" the dentist looked at me as if I asked, "So, are you going to spread that dental paste all over the floor and line dance on it?"

Mah pitom???? was his indignant response. This was just a checkup! OF COURSE you need to [scary music] come back!

So. Gotta make another appointment and head back over. Here's a peek at what we're dealing with: When I called to make this appointment, I stressed that it was really important to have an early morning appointment, even if it meant waiting a few weeks. Their response: Okay, sure, how about this Thursday at 12:00? Sigh.

Anyway, sorry to return with such downer news. I hope my cavity hasn't ruined anyone's day. But cheer up! I will hopefully return soon with a Close Reading of Curious George. Stay tuned.

Friday Confessions: Part II

So, kids, it's time for me to let you in on another secret. You know how you get really sad when the TV show is over? And you beg Mommy to let you watch justonemore???

Well, I'll tell you something: Mommy is sad too! Mommy realllly wants to let you watch another one. Because when you are sitting quietly in the front of the TV, absorbing the critical life lessons Power Rangers has to offer (the importance of an aesthetically pleasing mask? Never leave home without your Zord?), you aren't fighting, talking back, spilling something, fighting or talking back. That show starts, you are quiet, and the lack of hanging-on-us-ness allows us to commence important evening-time activities, such as sweeping up the bits of Nature Valley granola bar that you ever so cleverly spilled all over the floor. (Except for the bits that you wedged into your sandals while you were wearing them. Obviously not those.)

We have to move quickly during TV time, faster than the mad dash of a kid who heard from the other room that a sibling might be touching something of theirs. So there we are, frantically cleaning up from dinner, making lunches, cleaning up from breakfast, throwing out moldy tik fruit and, of course, checking Facebook. Then we hear the dreaded end-of-show jingle, one of the saddest known sounds for Mommykind. And we have to fortify ourselves to say no, not to give in to the seductive idea of hours and hours in front of the television, because, sigh, we should give you food and possibly even attention. And we all know that too much TV will turn you into law-breaking drains on society who never brush their teeth. (Note: productive non-criminals with clean teeth = my parenting goals.)

However, erev Shabbat or chag? Brain-rot away, kids. See you when it's bath time.

(In another news: I'm thinking of developing a new line of baby books, with the really important milestones. You know, first curse/bad word ("shuddup" or, my favorite Israeli one, "sheeeet"), first poop in the tub, etc. Suggestions?)