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Lined up for strawberries. It wasn’t always so orderly.
We left because the kids wouldn’t stop eating berries. Their shirts were a mess. They looked like vampires with strawberry juice running down their chins and arms. (Also: afraid of gastric consequences.)
I hope we managed to wrest enough from them to make a pie–or else the rhubarb we bought is totally going to go to waste. (Click to see stealing in progress.)
First glimpse of Israel.
Looking for turtles at Nachal Alexander. Deliberately defying instructions not to climb on the fence.
Watching horses from afar at Kfar Roeh.
Moonrise over Jordan. Thankfully only I was awake to see this.
Cousins and wallaby at Gan Garoo, an Australian-themed zoo.
AM feeding grey kangaroos. His first lesson in how to win friends and influence people others. (He also tried to hug and kiss one of them.)
Miss M figured out how to get the kangaroo feed for free. Then had her first experience as an enabler.
My personal inspiration. (They sleep a LOT.)
Our camera was on the fritz for part of the trip, so none of our pictures from the beach or from Gan Ha-shlosha (natural swimming pools) came out. Suffice to say the kids loved the water and had to be dragged out, teeth chattering.
Cake
Presents
Sweet dreams with a fuzzy friend
It hasn’t always been easy, but now he makes me laugh every day. That’s a pretty big gift.
Or: It’s the weaning, stupid.
A couple of afternoons in the warm sunshine have been good for everyone. Not being home between 3 and 5pm has been excellent for morale. Mine, at least.
Apparently the mere notion of taking a break resulted in all sorts of bloggable material. Because that very day I had a heart-to-heart with Miss M that made me realize that as much as I am desperate to wean her, she is equally desperate not to be weaned. To the tune of being willing to give up all rights and privileges of a big kid to be a tiny baby again because they nurse.
So we’ve got to figure out a way to make this less traumatic than it’s shaping up to be. And hopefully that will take care of some of the behavior stuff we’re wading through. I could also probably eliminate more tantrums if I let her wear a skirt to school every day, and though I have planned for that for next year, for now she’s stuck with what fits. (And the daily arguments about putting on clean underwear and clean socks? WHY? WHY WHY WHY???)
But the exceptionally bloggable part was when she asked me how babies get into their emas’ tummies. She’s not even four!!!!
Oh, and AM would like the general public to know he is more well-read than I implied in my last post.
Purim (We were about to go deliver mishloach manot–gifts of food and drink–to friends in our building. Many people, including some spirited adults, masquerade on Purim.)
In the words of Miss Doctor M: “AM is a firefighter; he brings people to the hospital, and I make them better.”
More of Sprouty’s 15 minutes. Hey, he’s better behaved than the kids.
Clearly the sign of someone with a serious problem: I did this in a freshly cleaned (not by me) kitchen.
Being deranged: Sometimes fun. And good for your plants.
Here’s a fuzzy picture of Sprouty’s bean.
Bordering on obsession, but somehow I feel proud of this.
Meet Sprouty. He is a lima bean, lovingly sprouted and planted in a tissue-paper decorated juice container by one Miss M.
Prior to Sprouty, my success with plants was minimal. Taxman would love to personally regale each and every one of you with the sad embellished tale of Zoe. She was an aloe plant I bought to decorate our first apartment. I did not realize that Zoe was essentially a cactus. I killed her with love overwatering. (At this point in the story, Taxman will turn to me and say, “Murderer!”)
Last year, Miss M attempted this very same project. It did not go well. There was beanicide, on the way home, no less.
I applied my Lessons Learned* and carried Sprouty home myself. Miss M offers reminders for watering. I do it every 2-3 days.
But here’s the rub: a flourishing, although leaning, bean sprout, attracting bugs** (fruit flies? whatever they are–ew, they are in my house! in my kitchen!) and nowhere to put it. No garden. No yard. Just a preschooler very attached to school projects. In fact every scrap of paper she brings home, as well as the ones she produces here six days a week. I have learned, the hard way, that winnowing must happen when she is absent or unconscious or watching Super Why!
Taxman votes for a slow kill, withholding water. I think it might be better to rend the Sprouty-Miss M bond all at once. I just don’t know if I have the guts.
Could anyone use a lima bean sprout?
* Why, yes, I have worked for the government; why do you ask?
** Just to clarify, I have no issue with insects in general. Outside they do good work. But I don’t want them near my food.
Oh, and I have no idea why I have assigned genders/names to plants. I don’t mean it in a cute, Martha Stewart-y way. At all. ‘Cause ew, worse than the bugs.
My little boy. So much to say, but no words.*
I love him even when he throws his trains. And legos. Lately he’s brought mimicry to a whole new level of sophistication. No longer content to merely crawl under the dining room table with his brush and dustpan, he empties the detritus into the trash. One grotty piece of cereal at a time. Armed with dirty clothes, he trots to the washing machine and actually loads it.
In the bath, he demands equal treatment–he wants to wash himself, thank you very much, and don’t you be too slow or too stingy with the babywash. One of these days he is going to insist on washing Miss M’s hair because she is the self-appointed washer for him. He wants to sit on the potty like her, and, for good measure, helps himself to her underpants and tries to put them on. (He’s partial to a pink pair of Elmo undies.)
Then there are the phones. Loves ‘em. There are a couple of old ones floating around the house, but really he prefers the real ones, the ones that beep and light up and call people. Cell phones are good too. Lots of fun things to do with those.
Yesterday I went to pay a condolence call. Normally, this is the kind of thing that kids do not attend, but I didn’t have a choice and knew that it would be ok. I arrived laden with snacks, trains, and a book for AM. This kept him quiet for a bit, but eventually I passed him my cell phone. After an accidental speed dial connection to Taxman, he did his usual button pressing and head tilting. Then he snapped the phone shut, lifted his shirt, and held the phone to his belly. It looked like he was giving himself an ultrasound, but he’s never seen that done before.
“Oh wow,” I murmured a minute later, right before I melted into a puddle of maternal ooze. “He’s trying to clip the phone on to his pants.” So.cute.
* DQ’d from EI. Its own story.
This is what it looked like on a “good day” (freshly washed, not slept on) before the chop!
For the “not so good days,” imagine an electrical socket, this much hair, and add in dry steam heat.
So you see….
Hot damn!
By (Curious) George, I’ve sort of got it!
And please forgive my breaking my promise by posting even more about The First Haircut. Think of it as my re-entree into the world of adorable pictures.
Yippee!
We thank you for your support….
This picture made me so happy, and I’m not sure why. (Peaceful co-existence? Sibling love?)
But it did.
