A Story About Eggs

So yesterday I did my weekly food shopping.

[Pause for a nap. Just thinking about it makes me tired.]

I was by myself. Which is a shame, because the big kids were getting to be terrific shopping helpers. In addition to loading the belt while I bag, they can get the cheese at the cheese counter. But their schedules this year did not leave an opening for food shopping, unless I go after 4:00 and take the Small Tornado with me. And I really didn't want to play his two favorite games: "Eat Your Way Through the Store" followed by "I've Had Enough of This Cart Hold Me" (the second of which always occurs while I'm frantically bagging.)

Anyway, I did all the work myself, and was bumping my cart through the parking lot when, SPLAT, my eggs fell. And, as anyone whose eggs have gone SPLAT in the parking lot will tell you, the eggs will break. I was feeling very annoyed and figured I would just dump the eggs in the garbage and get more a different time.

But a helpful man was standing near the garbage and suggested I go back. "I think they will exchange them for you," he said. I was thinking probably not, since after all it was my fault they dropped, and it would be a great opportunity for them to say that beloved Israeli catchphrase, "Zeh lo kashur elay."

However, it felt churlish to then ignore this nice man and dump my eggs anyway, right in front of him. But, I had a cartful of groceries. So in one hand I held the carton of eggs, which at this point had started to gently drip, and with the other pushed the cart to my car. I unloaded the bags into my car, placed my dripping egg carton in my now-empty cart and headed back into the store.

I waited at the main desk. I put my eggs on the counter and explained my situation. Can I exchange the eggs? (Drip, drip, drip). The Man nodded thoughtfully. "I don't know. See that lady next to the front door? Go ask her." Back into the shopping cart. We wheeled over to the lady. Can I exchange my eggs? She thought for a moment. Yes, she decided. You can exchange your eggs. Get a new carton and then put the broken eggs (drip, drip) onto the counter at the main desk.

So my dripping eggs and I went careening through the store to the egg section, which of course is on the complete opposite end. I got a new carton and cradled it gently, like I was holding something fragile. Such as eggs. We re-careened back to the main desk (drip, drip) and left the broken eggs on the counter. For what purpose? I'm not sure.

After clearing nearly all the eggs-tacles (obstacles? An attempt at an egg pun? Did it not work?), there was only one left: Receipt-Stamping Lady. And naturally, my receipt was in the car, with my now-melting groceries. You could have probably made a decent hafuch with the milk at this point. She looked at me, pushing a cart that was completely empty save for a single carton of eggs.

Her eyebrows shot up. "Kabbalah?" she inquired. I, once again, explained my situation. Luckily she let me go.

And that is how Rami Levy managed to do the right thing in the most complicated way possible.

Drip, drip, drip.

In Which I Score a Point. Just One. But Still.

Problem #1: Nadav does not want to put on pajamas. Pajamas mean sleep, and sleep is bad. Or, in the Heblish that Nadav has perfected, "NOOO lishon!!!"

Problem #2: Nadav does not want to get dressed in the morning. Clothing means going to gan, and leaving Meema, and we can't do that! Poor Meema! What will she do all day without her little helper?? How will she get anything done without someone clinging to her hip?

Solution: Instead of having two battles, I have eliminated them completely with my Get Dressed To Go To Sleep method (patent pending). At night, we put on fresh clothes of Nadav's choosing. They even remain relatively clean when it's time to go to gan in the morning. Also, he sleeps in his shoes, so he is ready to go, go, go. All he needs is a quick diaper change and we're outta there! Score one point for Meema!

Future Problem #1: As you may recall from a few sentences ago, Nadav sleeps in his shoes. This is okay now, during sandal weather (Choref Outlook: Continued Warm and Sunny), because at least some air circulates. Although, pieces of his sandals are constantly flaking off and sticking to his feet. Also, his feet stink. Bad. But okay. The big Future Problem is going to be winter. One cannot wear socks and thick leather shoes 24/7. One (Nadav) will certainly want to, but one (me) cannot let that happen. My standards are pretty low, but even I draw the line at wearing winter shoes straight through from November-March.

No solution yet, other than poking some air holes into his winter shoes.

In other news...

For all those following my RealIsraeli Meter, there have been a number of significant developments in recent weeks that are making my Israeliness go off the charts, leading me to run through the streets shouting "Oyoyoyoy TZION! TZION" or maybe just "SABABA!"

1. My personal Hebrew email checker (Ariella) complimented me on my "עברית עשירה" in one of my emails. Okay, I know, it's even more Israeli if you don't need a personal Hebrew email checker. But still. (In case you were wondering, it was my correct usage of the word "עקב" that elicited the compliment.)

2. I am a member of a first grade Facebook group. A member posted a question about an email that had been sent out and I - I! - was the veteran olah who went ahead and explained what it said! I think I even got it right! It makes sense that the kids need to come to school on Friday with 31 live chickens, right?

3. I bought Yaakov some jeans today and thought, "Good, now he has Shabbat clothes."

Scary Things Kids Say

Striking fear into the hearts of mothers everywhere....

1. "....so I stood on a chair to reach the bowls, but it wasn't high enough, so I put a stepstool on top of the chair..."

2. "The teacher said that instead of a test, we're going to do a project on the parsha. With a partner."

3. "B-R-R-R-R-I-I-I-I-N-N-N-G-G-G" [Followed by child's gan/school on caller ID]

4. "Oh, I need to bring 30 lollipops for our party in school. It's tomorrow."

5. [Silence]

Goodbye Sukkot; Hello Winter. Or: Not

Choref Lookout
Now that Sukkot is over, we are officially in Choref Zman, which means no vacation until Pesach. Yes, school will be off for Chanukah, but not work, so me + kids - Donny = Not Vacation. BUT, the upside of choref zman means we can now eagerly anticipate the days of less hot weather. This is the time of year I actually check the forecast, because it may deviate from Hot and Sunny. So without further ado (though in general I love a good ado), AliyahByAccident is proud to present our Official Choref Lookout:

7-day forecast: Hot and Sunny

Blech

Sukkot Roundup
In other news, Loyal Reader f/e asked about our sukkah. And I never like to leave Loyal Readers hanging.

In the 13 Sukkot Donny and I have celebrated together, this is only the very second time we've had our own Sukkah. It was very emotional. And large. Well, we were emotional. The sukkah was large. Though after 2 weeks of non-stop partying, we were kinda both.

Anyway, the sukkah spanned the entire mirpeset, which is like, super big. It's some number of meters by some smaller number of meters. Or maybe it's some number of meters by some larger number of meters. I forget. But it was big. We could seat 18 people  and still have room for a couch and some armchairs. Because what's a sukkah without a living room? Maybe Donny will post some pictures later. And really, all the credit to our fabulous sukkah goes to Donny, who, if you were stuck on a desert island with him, would totally have an ingenious way to rig up some shade to protect you from the beating sun. Although, he's really the planner, not the builder, so before you get yourself stranded, you might also want to grab Ron, who built the poles which held up the s'chach. So yes, with Donny and Ron, you would be well protected. Oh wait, also take the grill. Donny makes a mean steak. And some marinade. You know what? Forget the desert island. Just stay here. There's plenty of room in our sukkah.

For Shame!

Geeze, who runs this blog? No update in almost a month? It's downright embarrassing. Who is in charge of things around here???

Oh wait....

Like a true Israeli, all I can tell you is that we'll be back to our irregularly scheduled posts "acharei hachagim."

Happy New Year!

Well. I was going to blog about a traumatic school books experience, but that seems so two weeks ago. The trauma is still continuing, due to the unfortunate combination of me needing books + book stores not having books + publishers unsure if they will even print the books. But it's a less intense trauma, since now I've simply accepted that there won't be books, and that's that.

Then I was going to write a post about how to make the perfect round challah, except that I don't ever bake challah.

Then I thought about writing something inspiring and spiritual, but then I remembered this isn't that kind of blog.

So!

Before this Eat, Pray, Eat fest begins (and yes, let's be honest, it starts tomorrow), I will take my head out of my freezer (I spend a lot of time there, trying to rearrange Existing Things so New Things will fit, and ohmigod why is there so much damn frozen pita in here) and wish all my Readers a shana tova, filled with health and happiness, of course, but also quality ice cream, minimal doctor visits, plenty of coffee, friends you can dump your kids with last minute when something Unexpected comes up (Momz--I see the joke coming a mile away), days that your spouse comes home early, speedy Internet, very many "Awww, my kids are so cute!" moments and very few "AHHHHH my kids are insane monsters!" moments, paired-up socks, warm chocolate chip cookies, naps, at least a few times when you think you're going to die laughing, merrily humming appliances ... and people you love (or very much like) to enjoy it all with.

Did I miss anything? Shana tova!

In Which We Fail

How the smugly have fallen.

I used to be a Tipat Chalav snob. Everyone had horror stories from their well-baby checkups at Tipat Chalav. The baby's too fat, too skinny, too tall, too short, can't hear, hears too well, eats both too much AND not enough. Oh, and may the Lord protect you if your child fails to stack the blocks correctly. 

But I had a great nurse. So I felt very smug, listening to all my poor friends complain, thinking how lucky I was to be placed under Nurse Simcha's care.

And then. We got switched to Nurse Debbie. Nurse Debbie is a dour little woman, who called Nadav "chamud" but without any real feeling. I mean, what kind of person is that?

Look at that face!

[Pause.]

So she sees in her notes that Nadav had a speech delay. She asks me some questions about that. I explain: "Surgery....tubes...hearing tests...improvement..." expecting that this is the end of the conversation.

But no. Alas, for the days of Nurse Simcha. Nurse Debbie gets an evil glint in her eyes and pulls out a colorful, laminated card. On it is a picture of a little boy in bed, hugging a teddy bear.

Aha! She's going to ask him "Where's the bear? Where's the boy?" He can totally do this. (Whether he is willing to is a whole nother story, of course.)

But no. It's not a pointing activity. She asks, "Tell me what you see here, Nadav," waving her hand vaguely around the picture.

Nadav and I were thinking the same thing, "For the love of Ben Gurion! Are you hafuching crazy????" Well, Nadav actually smiled serenely, clearly believing this to be some sort of hilarious joke. But I'm sure he was thinking it, on the inside.

She kept asking, changing the words around. "Describe what's here. What do you see? Can you tell me what you see?" Yes, because that's the problem. He just didn't understand you the first time.

Anyway, I started to panic. Was he supposed to be able to answer this open-ended question in full sentences, with a capital and a period? You see, once I have left a child-rearing stage, I have absolutely no recollection of what is supposed to happen at that age. I have to start again with each kid. So I had no idea if Ariella and Yaakov frequently offered elaborate, detailed explanations of colorful laminated cards when they were two.

But as for Nadav, he clearly Failed, which I think makes Nurse Debbie quiver with an excitement normally only felt during SuperPharm's 1 Ploose 1 sale. She made us an appointment for the beginning of November, to assess his speech again. She then asked me what words he does have.

"Does he put two words together? Three?"

"Yes," I responded happily, "he says, 'lo rotzeh et zeh."

"That's only 2 words," she snapped.

Oh boy. None of my other 2-3 word combos counted either, apparently. Even his "DIE!" which he can draw out to as long as four or five words.

I have been humbled. I now join the ranks of all of you inferior parents, raising your inferior children. Let's get together and practice stacking blocks.