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- Miss M’s newest choice phrase: (sad voice) “I’m having a hard day.” Perhaps she’s been eavesdropping on my late afternoon phone conversations with Taxman? But in her case it usually means, “I have to poop, and I don’t want to.”
- This morning I sent her to her room for the usual infraction (pushing AM) and popped in to find her lying in bed, covers pulled up, reading a book. Hey, if I misbehave, will somebody let me do that? Go ahead, punish me for a long time! Enough, say, to finish my book club selection.
- AM’s newest shtick for expressing frustration is to freeze in his tracks, squat, and give a howl of anguish. It’s meant, I’m sure, to elicit sympathy and melt my icy-cold heart. But whenever I see it, I burst out laughing–because Miss M has been doing the exact same thing for at least a year and a half. [Is that where he picked it up? Or is it just another creepy way in which they're the same?]
We saw moose!
We met bloggers!
We got mosquito bites! (Especially Taxman. Oy. Bad news.)
We’re up to our eyeballs in laundry…more stories and snark to come!
We’re here, in the Country of Everything Moose. (Seriously. The moose paraphenalia available in Bar Harbor is small potatoes in comparison to up here.) We manage to survive many hours in the car with an increasingly cranky AM, who was soothed only by Laurie Berkner’s Buzz, Buzz CD–Under a Shady Tree just would not do. Unfortunately Miss M wanted to listen to Bert & Ernie’s Greatest Hits. It was like the Clash of the Titans. And not in a good way.
Now I can’t sleep, probably a combination of a very late dinner, a bed not my own, a cold in my nose, and anticipating AM’s wakeup (going on about 6.5 hours!). Our accomodations are not luxury by any stretch, but there’s the lake and the stars, and the kids have their own room, and we can overlook that mysterious wet spot on the floor because there’s a little fridge! cable tv! and wireless internet!
Many many consecutive hours of family time tomorrow. But here’s hoping for a chance to nap with AM!
On our way to our friends’ house yesterday, we passed this guy on Route 60. He had a two-car police escort. No kidding.
We went to the New England Aquarium today. It cost more than $30 to get in the door, but it was worth it when the freebie (AM) was loosed from his sling and ran pell-mell to the mangrove tank, pressed his face against the glass, and signed “fish.” Then he signed “please” and “more.” And then attempted to dive in with the penguins.
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Laugh for the day:
At the aquarium they snap a photo of your party as you enter. I’ve seen this a lot of places: the Bronx Zoo, various amusement parks, etc. As we were leaving, Taxman stepped up to where the photos are displayed. “I just want to see it,” he told me. We actually all looked reasonable, with the exception of Miss M, who has a pronounced “deer in the headlights” look when commanded to pose and smile by people she doesn’t know.
Then Taxman said, “Can we keep it?”
Uh, no, honey, how else would these starving college students make their meager paychecks? But I’ll keep you!
We’re in cloudy and damp (formerly sunny and pleasant) New England on a week’s adventure.
Reports to follow next week!
As usual, I have had a hard time getting down all I wanted to say about this without feeling like I am doing too much explaining. I can clarify based on your questions.
Today is the first day of the Hebrew month of Av.
The month begins in sorrow. The first nine days of the month are a time of national mourning for the destruction of the Beit Hamikdash and the city of Jerusalem–the first by the Babylonians, the second by the Romans–on the 9th of Av (Tisha b’Av). Tisha b’Av is a fast day, a full night and day, the only one with the same ”soul afflictions” of Yom Kippur: food, drink, washing/anointing oneself, marital relations, and wearing leather shoes.
We are told to “diminish our joy” as Av enters. Haircuts are not permitted. There are restrictions on laundry, and purchases of new clothes must be put off. Weddings cannot be held. Concerts, movies, and parties are nixed. Bathing for pleasure–swimming* or jacuzzis or long, luxurious baths–are not allowed either. Meat and wine, associated with both festive occasions and temple sacrifices, are reserved solely for Shabbat meals.
The “Nine Days” are considered an inauspicious time. Business deals between religious people wait for the following week; people wouldn’t close on a house, buy a car, or make another significant purchase. Travel abroad, except to Israel, is deferred.
As superstitious as it all seems, events that have been catastrophic for Jews have often been set into motion on Tisha b’Av: the First Crusade in 1095-96; the expulsion of the Jews from England in 1290; the transports from the Warsaw Ghetto to Treblinka in 1942.
On Tisha b’Av, our behavior is a reflection of mourning. We sit on the floor or on low benches, barefoot or in socks, slippers, or uncushioned sneakers. We read Eichah, the Book of Lamentations, bereft over the loss of the holy city. I always blow it–usually before I even make it into bed (with no pillow) that night–but people are not supposed to greet one another on Tisha b’Av, as part of the mourning pose.
I have to admit, though, that in the midst of all the sadness, I feel strangely hopeful. (Despite entreaties for a rebuilt Jerusalem, which are part of everyday prayers, such a thing would be so radically different from the religion I experience now.) Although the physical structure that really was the glue for the Jewish people was destroyed (twice!), somehow the “remnant” survived. Physically and spiritually. And adapted to changing times, mores, and locations. Judaism, for all its head-banging argumentativeness, is thoughtful. Instead of dismissing, say, reproductive technology as “not for us,” some rabbis have engaged themselves into the smallest process details, adjusting and stretching ideas and thoughts into new shapes, but always with an eye on Halacha. We are, of course, adjured to “live by” the laws, with all the messiness, the arguments, the family, and the LIFE that the living entails.
After Tisha b’Av, the rest of the month is for consolation as we set our course for the spiritual test of the Days of Awe, Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur, just two months from today.
* Most Jewish summer camps will continue swimming instruction (except on Tisha b’Av itself); knowing how to swim is actually mentioned in the Talmud as a critical life skill that parents are expected to teach their children.
My dad and stepmom and her brother & sister-in-law are in Italy. *ding!*
We got a postcard from Venice. *ding!*
In addition to all the fabulousness that is (I’m guessing here; never been) Italy, and I quote, “[We] strolled through San Marco square where we attended a concert with Peter Gabriel.” *ding!ding!ding!*
Niiiiiice.
Well, I once saw Richard Marx in concert at Radio City Music Hall.*
Huh. That’s not really the same, now, is it?
* In my defense, I was 14. And sometimes had questionable taste. And I believe the friend with whom I attended paid–I mean, her parents paid–for the tickets.
Thoughts upon knifing open my first Jersey Fresh ™ Sugar Baby watermelon of the year:
“Oh shit, there must be 500 seeds** in here!”
* Apparently, there is some debate as to whether the way to breed seedless watermelons constitutes genetic modification or plain ‘ole hybridization. But you’d be hard pressed to find one that’s “certified organic.” So spaketh Teh Internets.
** For just the adults, it would be a minor inconvenience. But because Miss M will not even eat the soft white seeds that are part and parcel of any watermelon experience…quelle disastre! Telling her–or AM, for that matter, who, rather like a goat, will eat anything–to pick them out is not an option.
So the last thing standing between Miss M and her dream (play) kitchen is pooping on the potty.* She’s done it a couple of times–it’s a fraught and fearful experience. The days between poops (3 or 4 from a former 1-2 x a day pooper) are fraught for me.
I figured it would continue to be a struggle every few days for some finite period of time.** Basically hugging her while pinning*** her to her potty seat as she begs to get off, just like peeing was for the first couple of days.
So you can imagine that I never dreamed she’d poop in a relatively uncontrolled environment. (Kate, Kate, you say, surely you project! It’s YOU that deals with safe toilet syndrome. My only defense is that prior to the potty being such a huge part of our lives, I could count on one hand the times she pooped not at home or where we were sleeping on vacation–from the time she was about 6 months old, no less.)
So there we were, at the park. She was running herself ragged climbing up and sliding down a section meant for kids over 8. I made threatening noises about collecting her sand toys right! this! instant! if she wanted to get pizza for lunch. She came running over, clutching her crotch in the traditional potty dance manuever. “Aieee!” she cried.
“Do you have to pee?” I asked.
“Yes!”
“Come here, I have your little potty.” I brandished the Baby Bjorn potty that now lives in the trunk of the car and is our constant sidekick.
As she was sitting, I noticed her back hunch in a suspicious way. “Are you pooping?” I asked, trying to keep my voice neutral. Because I was completely unprepared for that. Pee is easy enough to dispose of and clean up after, plus won’t give anyone cholera.
“No. Aieeee!”
(At this point AM, who was in the sandbox, wanted out. Right then. The protest was sustained and loud. Why do I go to the park by myself with them? I have no idea. I need a buddy, clearly.)
So yes, there was poop. And pee. And a poopy potty. And only one plastic bag. Thankfully, there were other parents at the park as well, one of whom gifted me a plastic grocery bag so I could tote Teh Now-Gross potty home.
And now, if you’ll excuse me, I must lament the fact that we don’t have a utility sink.
* Miss M is not a huge fan of public toilets, although she did use one at the library today without a peep of protest. To my utter amazement.
** Complicating things is that she’s pretty much sworn off diapers. The last time she wore one during the day was last Friday, and that was because she had had two accidents while we were out and had run through the stash of underpants. We have offered her diapers to poop in, and she’s steadfastly refused them.
*** Does that sound awful? I’m afraid that she’s going to jump off in the middle of going and the results are going to get flung all over the bathroom. It’s kind of a health hazard, considering AM and his propensity to, uh, explore with his fingers and mouth. There hasn’t been any permanent damage to her psyche (I think), because now she’s totally cool with peeing. As she’ll be happy to tell you. Over and over. The less she knows you the better.
- Last Sunday, Taxman and I went out to dinner alone for the first time in two years. To quote one of my preschool mom friends, “Oh, Kate! Two years? That’s pathetic.”
- We went to an incredibly expensive kosher place in Manhattan. I hadn’t been there in about four years, but Taxman sometimes goes there for business lunches. Somehow, the prices went from just plain exorbitant to stratospheric. Ouch.
- My fish entree was very good, as was Taxman’s steak, but the appetizer and even the desserts were “eh.” We sat outside, where we were trapped in the second-hand smoke of patrons who couldn’t smoke inside. The music was too loud. Overall, the restaurant experience was just ok. For the prices, I wanted near-perfection. Am I asking too much?
- But, oh, good gracious, my husband and I had a two-hour conversation. In broad daylight. That was worth it.
- On July 4th we went to a BBQ. Several families from our neighborhood gathered in a lovely spot about 40 minutes away. There was playground equipment, an open space for playing ball, lots of picnic tables. It should have been great. It was fine, don’t get me wrong, but Taxman volunteered to be the grill guy (serving 25+ people, all told, from 3 mini-grills) and between AM eating the playground mulch and Miss M’s potty breaks and whining for more bubbles I didn’t really have the opportunity to sit and let the vacationy feeling wash over me.
- It gets easier, right?
- First blogger meetup of the summer: accomplished.
- AM went three days in a row without a proper napping schedule. He’s still recovering.
- Taxman and his dad took the kids to the Central Park Zoo for two hours on Friday. The adults are still recovering. I spent the same two hours at a day spa.*
- Miss M is doing great on the potty, but the one poop in it happened by accident. Now she’s caught between a rock and a hard place, because she won’t poop on the potty on purpose and she now gets very uncomfortable when she does anything in a diaper. (Any words of wisdom?)
- I got reconnected to a college friend over Shabbat. Up until about a week ago she lived across the street from Taxman’s parents. Now? She lives in Washington, DC. Oh well.
- Said friend introduced me to my new Internet obsession (like I needed another one): Paperback Swap.
- Three of my books–of the 14 I uploaded this morning during the kids’ breakfast–are already in process to go to new homes!
- This will be a classic case of spending money to break even. But eventually Miss M (and then AM) will get into chapter books, and this way I can get them delivered to my house! For free. Ok, “free.” But great concept, no?
- Both kids now open the fridge and stand there. Miss M stares in, contemplative. AM grabs for anything he can reach. Good grief.
- Hey, only about 70 more days until school starts!
* This will be its own post. Trust me, you’ll want to tune in.
