Mommy, I Don't Feel Good

When it comes to sick days for the kids, I tend to err on the side of compassion. My mother was much the same way. If we weren't really all that sick, but she could see that we just needed the day, and it wasn't abused more than a small handful of times over the year, she was fine about us kids staying home from school. My father's policy was more along the lines of, 'If you have no fever, you're going to school.' High school was tough enough that even if I was sick enough to stay home, I often tried to insist that I be allowed to go anyway, lest I miss something important.

RaggedyDad actually (successfully!) performed the thermometer-to-the-lightbulb trick as a kid to get out of going to school in Russia (Soviet schools? Who wouldn't?!), and certainly at this age, Ann and Andy are not missing much if they stay home from nursery and Pre-1A (Kindergarten to the uninitiated. More on these silly grade-level name differences another time).

So yesterday, when we discovered that Ann and Andy have ear infections, Andy also has strep, and everyone's got a cold, it became clear that we were going to get another Sunday on Monday. As in, another day to be home. This comes closely on the tails of Little Rag being deemed a possible 'strep carrier'.

[Pediatrician: He's got strep for the third time in a row.

RaggedyMom: What? Why? What does this mean?

P: Well, I'd venture to guess that he never actually had strep to begin with.

RM: Doctor, is this some kind of phantom-strep conspiracy-theory? Have you and I been watching the same prime time tv shows?

P: Here's the number of a good ENT I know.

RM: And you may ask yourself, "How did I get here?"]



Aside from the whole kvetchy-sick part, it is rather nice to be together.

Here's a roster of some of our sick day events:

*"Lunch for breakfast" - macaroni and cheese at 8:30 a.m.? Sure, kids!

*"Wine and cheese tasting" - er, choices of pomegranate juice or Kedem grape juice in 'fancy' plastic shot glass cups, American and 'Gorilla Cheese' (Andy's pronunciation of mozzarella) on party toothpicks

*Camping with blankets - because that is a given on at-home days

* Freestyle project-athon - Cutting up old magazie collages, pom-pom gluing, sticker applying, googly eyes, early-birthday-card-for-RaggedyDad production, etcetera

* 'Helping' Mommy to refold clothes in drawers and resort toys in bins, or ensuring that Mommy will have to do this job all over again

* Play-Doh or fingerpainting, depending on how much of a glutton for punishment I feel like being.

*Sick day cuddles

*PBS hour . . . or two.

*"Breakfast for dinner" - Pancakes, anyone? Yes, The Apple, I know we just had them yesterday -- but we're siiiiiiick . . .


We won't be doing laundry, as our machine is having "issues" and Our Man of Maytag, Jerry (referred to by Andy simply as "Jelly") is not available until tomorrow afternoon. Luckily, we were all caught up before it stopped working.

We also don't need to devote any time to paper decluttering, as I mostly did all that yesterday, nor will we be evaluating and saying goodbye to old school and camp projects, because we successfully purged all but the most special last week.

Whew! The only caveat to today is not making sick days so much fun that they never want to go back to school. Ah, well. They're only this little once. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to go find the mini-marshmallows for some hot chocolate.

Hold It

I know that I need to eat healthier. These years, it's really about setting a good example for the kids.

For some reason, lots of people have had the (mistaken) impression that I am a supremely healthy eater. I've had people assume that I'm a health nut, or a vegetarian, countless times. I'm really not sure why. Maybe because I'm so pale, they assume that I'm anemic due to a lack of iron from not eating meat. Or maybe that's a real stretch, and I just give off a healthy food vibe.

The truth of the matter is, I'm not the healthiest of eaters. I do love fruit, but vegetables usually require me just convince myself that I like them. I like to bake because I like what it yields: namely, baked goods. My classic response to a supper made by my mother that I didn't like was to go and toast a Lender's bagel with melted cheese. (Sorry, mom! I realize now how insulting and rude that was!)

One of my other vices is SALT. I like things salty. I tend to have a heavy hand when it comes to salting the potato kigel (very healthy, I know), or mac and cheese (classic supper for me when I wasn't cooking for the kids), or eggs. How can you enjoy sunny-side-up eggs without some salt?

On Wednesday evening, RaggedyDad and I went to Ann's Parent Orientation at school and the director of the preschool division was talking about an article that came out in the NY Times last week. It seems that all these higher salt foods have let to a rise in kidney stones in children! Kids, who almost never had something like kidney stones are suddenly developing them with much higher frequency.

I've tried a salt substitute, but I found it rather disgusting. So I'd rather just cut back on the salt. It's not good for any of us, and certainly not for RaggedyDad as we get, er, older. I'll just have to try to eliminate it a bit at a time from the things where it doesn't really matter much. As it is, I serve very few processed foods, so it's really just ME adding the salt myself (not sure if that makes it better or worse!).

It'll be a little less tasty, but hopefully, it'll be well worth it.

Belgium to the Fifth Power

This was my fifth time visiting Belgium. Here's a compendium:


Visit 1 (2001): We were engaged and I hadn't yet met anyone in RaggedyDad's family but his mother.

Complicating factor: Being not-yet-married, we were staying in different places. Cell phones were not as ubiquitous as they are now, so we spent a lot of time looking for each other at corners and checking our watches.

Nice factor: RaggedyDad's family drove us around to see some very interesting, off-the-beaten-path parts of the country. It was very fascinating and very new.


Visit 2(2002): We were married for a little under a year.

Complicating factor: None!

Nice factor: No kids yet meant lots of freedom and very little luggage. We took a side-trip to Paris for a day.



Visit 3(2004): We went with Ann when she was a year old.

Complicating factor: Longish flight with a baby; more luggage than we were used to; baby Ann nearly fed ham-and-cheese baby food by well-meaning relatives

Nice factor: Ann and her cousin, five months older than she is, getting to know each other


Visit 4(2006): Ann was 3, Andy was nearly 1.

Complicating factor: Hottest weather in Belgium in all the times I've been there. Nobody has air conditioning. Nobody has screens on their windows. Mosquito bites galore. In the news, Bush has just refused to sign Kyoto accord, so everyone seems to be blaming me for the heat!

Nice factor: RaggedyDad's sister moved into a house between this visit and the previous one, and her yard is enormous by our standards. Kids have a blast outdoors on grass, play equipment, and in kiddie pool.


Visit 5 (2008) Ann is 5, Andy is nearly 3, Little Rag is 1

Complicating factor: Ann is 5, Andy is nearly 3, Little Rag is 1. Complicated enough, no? The five of us share a bedroom for 2 weeks. The airports we are traveling to and from are kind of far.

Nice factor: The look on RaggedyDad's grandparents' faces as they saw the three kids, especially the baby, who looks just like RaggedyDad. Having a car for the first time while there gave us a much greater degree of freedom (as much as we can really achieve) and a sense of family exclusivity.



Next up . . . Tour the caves of Han-sur-Lesse with the Raggedies and a contingent of surprise guests!

Raggedy-ism #1

Garbagnik (gar-BAZH-nik)

One who finishes leftover food that is probably best thrown in the trash. In particular, an adult who finishes the children's leftovers.

Usage: RaggedyDad, stop being such a garbagnik with that soggy bowl of Ann's Cheerios! There can't be more than ten of them in there!

Goodbye, July

The summer always seems to end before it begins. Summertime in my mind lasts for about ten weeks, firmly between the end of the school year and the start of a new one. Go into the stores now, and school supplies already line the shelves! Talk about a drag for kids!

This year's summer Sundays are more constrained than usual, due mostly to the fact that (this year) the period of Jewish mourning known as the Three Weeks both begins and ends on a Sunday.Two of the Sundays are Fast Days, and a third is during the even more serious Nine Days. And our upcoming trip starts on a Sunday and ends two Sundays later (more on that in an upcoming post), so there go another three Sundays.

Oh, and those nice still warm Sundays in September? RaggedyDad will be in school all day for two of them, and one of them is the day before Erev Rosh Hashana.

Now that the kids are out of camp, I'm trying to do some summer things with them on my own, since I know our Sundays with RaggedyDad are so limited. Until I was five, on just about every day that the weather allowed it, my mother and I took the bus from Givatayim to the beach in Tel Aviv. So although I am a Very Pale Person, I also feel very much at home at the beach.

Beach air is great (unless someone's smoking near you - yuck), and the Coppertone smells exactly the same as it did when I was eight years old and on a bus to day camp.

Yesterday, we went to the beach in Far Rockaway. Going alone to the beach with three small children, while fun at times, well, I can't really recommend it to anyone sane.




Thankfully, everyone listened, and stayed close, and the baby barely ate any sand, and we sat within spitting distance of lifeguards. But as anyone who has been to the beach, or especially taken kids, it's not the beach time itself that is the challenge. It's the sandy, messy, disastrous clean-up. Despite it all, we had a great, great time. And -- there is no sleep like the sleep after time spent at the beach.

Although the summer is not quite waning yet, when July ends, it reminds me of the poem that ends Alice and Through the Looking Glass:

. . . Echoes fade and memories die
Autumn frosts have slain July
Still she haunts me, phantomwise,
Alice moving under skies
Never seen by waking eyes
Children yet, the tale to hear
Eager eye and willing ear,

Lovingly shall nestle near.
In a Wonderland they lie,
Dreaming as the days go by
Dreaming as the summers die:
Ever drifting down the stream --
Lingering in the golden gleam --
Life, what is it but a dream?

Counting Sheep

The Raggedy kids are known to be poor sleepers but good eaters. It seems you can't have both.

Ann was a baby who simply did not like to sleep. For a while, it seemed like she never slept at all. There were novels that I started and finished in one long night while I stayed awake nursing her and taking care of her.

For the first two years of her life, I taught on Sundays and also two afternoons a week (big thanks again go to my mother who rearranged her part-time schedule around mine) RaggedyDad's hours back then were better and he wasn't in school. And baby Ann did not sleep.

Before becoming RaggedyMom, I didn't have much experience with babies or children, so I thought this was a cruel joke no one had told me about. We were the first ones in our neighborhood chevrah with a baby. Some of them were expecting soon, and I wondered, "Should I tell them how insane this is?"

During Ann's babyhood, there was a period of time when RaggedyDad would come home at around 8 p.m. and we'd do a 10-minute version of "hi-how-was-your-day?" and then I'd go to sleep. My shift of sleep was 8 p.m. to 1 a.m. and RaggedyDad would sleep from 1 a.m. to 6 a.m. Then it was time to be awake and start a new day all over again. If either of us got the baby to sleep during our 'awake shift', that was a bonus. Life continued this way for a while. As difficult and cranky a newborn Ann was, she turned out to be extremely sweet and good-natured.

Andy was the only baby to take a pacifier. He slept a lot better than Ann did, and all those extra hours of sleep helped him prepare for his current role as the lively, hungry two-and-a-half-year-old creature he has become. Part Curious George, part Animal from the Muppets, Andy adds a lot of, um, fun to our lives.

Little Rag is his own unique brand of Raggedy. But his sleep habits definitely fall along the lines of another Ann. He thinks that the big kids are cute to look in on when they're sleeping and he enjoys having another supper time with RaggedyDad. He's very close to being a year old (!) and sleeps more poorly than some 2 month olds I know of. Sigh.

We still check on the big kids several times a night. Watching them sleeping is one of the few quiet enjoyments out there. Ann's gangly arms and legs inevitably sprout their way out of the covers. Andy's pajamas twist, or he is halfway off of his little toddler bed. As for Little Rag, when he's actually asleep, he is firmly in tush-in-the-air territory.

I do try to tell them how much they'll want to sleep when they get to be teenagers. But for now, they don't quite seem to believe me.

What I Did On My Summer Vacation

I've missed blogging. I really have. There were so many false starts in my mind, so many things I wanted to say, that just sort of fizzled as they were consumed by the great time sucking forces that invaded for good.

For the past three weeks, Ann, who is turning 5 on Shabbos, and Andy, who is turning 3 in October, have been going to day camp. They're going for the first 'half' of the summer, after which they'll be home for three weeks, and then we'll be away for two weeks visiting RaggedyDad's family.

In my fuzzy, early childhood memories, Hachofesh Hagadol was spent taking the bus from Givatayim to the beach in Tel Aviv, or tagging along as my brothers waged war against the ants in the yard of our apartment building, looking at picture books, and yes, being bored sometimes. I'm attempting to recreate that sense of vast downtime for my kids for the remainder of the summer.

In my imaginary universe, I have a little backyard with a little spot for a plastic pool and some grass. In reality, New York summers are oppressively muggy and hot after 10 a.m., the streets reek of garbage juice, and we live in an upstairs apartment with no balcony or yard space. Hence, camp.

I'm glad that they have been enjoying seeing one another at camp. I'm glad that Andy seems to be doing fine for his four daily hours without me. I'm glad that Ann is, as always, unfazed when she recognizes practically no other kids ("Guess what, Mommy?! Even more kids to be friends with!!")

In the meantime, I've dusted off my grad school textbooks (Okay, it wasn't that long ago. Not that much dust) and I have been teaching reading one-on-one for ten hours a week while my mother watches Little Rag. Whew!

Add that to the usual array of laundry, my quest to serve less processed food to the family (we are really into soups lately), a nearly-one-year-old who still sleeps like a newborn, RaggedyDad bogged down with work and school, extended family drama (for a change), and getting ready for The Trip, and you have a rather raggedy mom.

But I am trying to start writing here again to clear my head and reconnect with my blogging friends. I have been reading (and sometimes commenting) over at most of your places. Thanks for coming back.

Vintage Sheets

While we're on the topic of sleep, I wanted to get to something that I've been interested in posting for a while. Ann started sleeping in a bed when we stayed with my parents for Pesach the year she was nearly 3. When we came home after that week, RaggedyDad and my father brought over the bed that was mine since we came to America from Israel when I was 5.

Ann's bed is my old bed, and what better to complete the look than having my mother give us a big shopping bag full of the bedsheets used by my older brothers and me when we were kids. Realize that my mother is the type to keep things in impeccable condition.

I tend to be a sentimental, nostalgic person, and I really like the idea that the old kiddie sheets are now in our home. However, this notion can be taken to the extreme. I know someone who actually found the old potty seat (bleached down I presume) that she used, and uses it for her kids. For me, however, the intermingling of sentiment and excrement is where I draw the line. Take a picture of the old thing if you need to, and then toss it, please.

Back to more pleasant things, like bedsheets. Aside from some fading from being washed a million times, the sheets are in great condition. And I get a kick out of watching Ann (and Andy now that he uses some of the pillowcases) fall asleep while watching and thinking about the same colorful sheets I remember from being a kid.

Can anyone identify all of the vintage Disney characters on these sheets?

The Sincerest Form of Flattery

I'm not sure if it's because Andy just misses Ann when she's away at preschool most of the day, but one of his favorite things to do sometimes is to wear things that are hers. Some days, it's shoes (although they both loooove wearing my shoes). Today it was this pair of pajamas that run a bit big even on her.

This is one of those times when I'm not sure what to do. On the one hand, she may get upset to find that he's been wearing (and now, napping in) her pajamas. "Those are very special to me!" is a line I'd typically hear from her in a case like this.

On the other hand, they share many things, and there are two pairs of warm fleecy pajamas that were bought for him, that they have both been wearing lately. If she's wearing his, she's got to be willing to have him wear hers. We're not very territorial as a family, but it's also important that we respect one another's belongings.

I'm hoping he doesn't extend his love of the pink and flowery beyond pajamas and into clothing worn outside, because that's a battle of wills I wasn't eager to have. Oh well. At least he's dressed today.

The Wild-Eyed Madwoman is Me

Somewhere along the way, I let the reigns slip, and there seems to be little chance of getting them back.

Have you ever done errands with a bunch of little kids running amok? The littlest one is helplessly screaming. Again. The oldest one is whining about a coloring book she needs, and also, she has to use the bathroom. It's a 'mergency'. The middlest one is knocking into glass bottles in stores and screaming "Me too money! My turn money!" when you pull out a quarter to feed the meter. And finding the most embarassing things ever to yank off shelves at the pharmacy (use your imagination). And anytime there's a playground in his field of vision, running, running, at breakneck speed to the PWAAAAAYYY GWOOOUUUNNDD!!.

Thank you to all of the kind people who held doors open for me on Main Street this week. Also, though less helpful, thanks to those of you who gave me long, pitying glances. Making eye contact with others can be unexpectedly gratifying.

My lists of errands didn't seem that crazy on paper. Carpool. Bank. Post office. Pharmacy. Pediatrician (little did I know, I'd wait there for 2 hours!). In actuality it was like some kind of absurd triathlon.

Oh, and also, Mondays are apparently pants-switching and sweatband-wearing days for Ann and Andy. (They look like they are here to pump . . you up!)



Thankfully, every day brings with it its own hour of salvation. Naptime. I'd better keep on sleeping when I can. I'll need all the strength I can get.

Life's Blessings

Tonight, I'll be saying one of the last brachos (blessings) for the Jewish year of 5767:

"Baruch ata . . . hamotzi fish sticks min ha-freezer"**

Wishing everyone (including me) luck with the last hectic preparations, hoping that the kids won't be too traumatized from a couple of really lame suppers, and most of all, a wonderful, sweet year to come.



**("Blessed are you, Hashem, who brings forth fish sticks from the freezer" - no, this is not an actual blessing, but a play on words of a real one.)

Let's go!

I will probably never be able to get out of the house in a timely manner ever again.

Or maybe it just feels that way for now.

Somewhere in the last three weeks of new baby euphoria, I realized that it's a good thing the end of August is an unscheduled blur, because that's exactly what I needed at first. RaggedyDad leaves for work, and the rest of us are able to take the day as it comes. Pajamas for everyone until 2 p.m.? Sure! Cereal and milk for lunch(again)? No problem!

Now that Ann is about to begin another school year, though, I'm looking forward to getting into some kind of routine. In the spirit of that typical early September idealistic optimism, I've been resurrecting some of my notebooks and lists. I'm dusting off (or starting) plans for school lunches, weeknight suppers, Shabbos meals, general grocery lists, and household tasks, some of which had gathered dust long before giving way to four months of throwing up, two good months, and nearly three months of bedrest.

For now, getting ready to leave the house with three little ones in tow has been humblingly chaotic. Ann is pretty self-sufficient in terms of getting dressed and ready, with a few road-bumps along the way. Andy is equal parts helper and destroyer, and tends to get his finally-dressed self full of something like food, water, milk, soap, or worse. Little Rag is three weeks old, and anyone who's been the parent of a three-week-old knows what that means.

And then there's the part where we're actually out the door - with all of the "stuff", of course - Heaven forbid we forget any of the "stuff" - none of which we actually wind up using, but all of which we would surely need if any of it were left behind. Once upon a time I had it pretty together, and I know I will again, but for now I still seem to be at that point where my flustered demeanor gets me some knowing smirks and pitying stares from people on the street.

I tend to be a stickler for leaving the house without a mess lying around, so the kids are on toy-clean-up patrol while I hit the morning dishes. By then, there are more diapers to change, a fit of hysteria over my having chosen "the wrong shoes," crayon has somehow decorated the table surface, Ann and Andy are "sooooo thirsty" and, of course, Little Rag is crying. Again.

I do have to stop answering the telephone, because invariably, the caller will ask, pointedly, "Is everything okay over there? Are you managing?"

To which I like to say, "What?? I can't hear you. Is that on my end or on yours? I guess I'll call you back later, then. Bye!"

Raggedy Road

For about the past month, the Raggedys have been enjoying the sounds of a metro-New York summer. Including, but not limited to: jackhammers, drills that bore holes through bricks, roof overhauling tools and materials, and the like.

The large apartment complex where we live has been actively trying to justify the high maintenance fee we pay, and it has translated into major work projects throughout the summer. While I'm not opposed to the eventual beautification of the grounds, the arduous work being done in the meantime feels endless!

Giant tarps, mesh enclosures, precarious hanging ladders, and men in the windows for much of the day - it gets a little intense! At times, the noise has been mind-numbing. Often, I'm scared to watch what these guys are doing and I'm busy cringing and hoping that none of them get seriously hurt.

On the bright side, Ann and Andy have been very entertained and fascinated by everything giong on around them. Ann is at camp for a good deal of the day, but Andy has been more or less homebound with me for weeks. It has been a sort of blessing in disguise to have these guys out here for him to watch with awe. Especially cute is when some of them respond to his excited shouts of "Man-worker! Hi mans! Hi worker!" etc.

Today's project was one of the more invasive ones. In front of our apartment is a concrete path that leads to all of the apartments on this stretch of the block. The path is being repaved in sections, and for the time being, there is no paving over much of our area. It was pretty tricky navigating getting in and out of the house with the kids, Andy loving the newfound pile of dirt and Ann insisting on avoiding the dirt while staying on the narrow strip of grass near it. Of course, as Mommy, I get the honor of walking on the rockiest or messiest part while holding the 'stuff' and frantically trying to keep everyone from tripping and maintain hand-holding at all times. While whistling Dixie.

When the workers pack up for the day come nightfall, and the kids finally stop talking from their beds and conk out, I'm pretty sure I'll head to bed myself.

Eight Things Meme

I'm going to go a bit counterculture here and neglect to paste in the rules of the meme. I don't feel like these rules are so crucial to understanding what this is all about, and I'm not always that big on thinking that the rules always have to apply!


1. I often drink water (cold NYC tap is the best) with a few drops of lemon juice concentrate added in. Or sometimes seltzer with the same add-in. Ann has the habit of referring to this as "melon water" and can't get the word "lemon" straight. I'm so used to hearing it that I now refer to it as melon water myself. Speaking of, RaggedyDad, can you make me some melon water with ice and a straw?

2. I like to bake, and baking means eggs. I use a specific glass for cracking the eggs into for checking blood spots, and I still mentally think "No red!" whenever the egg is clean (almost always). Since Ann and Andy are usually on the step-ladder next to me, I taught them to check from on top and from underneath the glass and to call out "No red!" too. Andy's egg announcement sounds more like "Aaah-Re!"

3. For several years after moving here from Israel at age 5, I hardly used my Hebrew (aside from being able to coast through Hebrew language tasks at school) but luckily I got it back for the most part when I was ready to get into it again. These days I push myself to use it whenever I can (with Ann's teachers, in half of the stores around here, etc.), glaring errors and all.

4. Usually, at some point on my birthday, I cry. Not because of getting older, since I still feel like I'm about 16. I guess it's probably out of nostalgia and the sadness of time passing. As a kid, I was often away at camp on my birthday, and it just felt very empty being away from home on my birthday.

5. My aunt is a nurse-midwife and delivered me. And I spent my first day in the world in an incubator because I was small.

6. Even though I cook a good deal these days, I have a mental block when it comes to potatoes. When it comes the differences in cooking and peeling approaches to mashed potatoes vs. potatoes for potato salad, etc., I have to quickly consult with the man of the house.

7. I don't know how to ride a bike. Awful, I know. My brothers were teaching me and got impatient. If I remember correctly, they took the training wheels off too soon and then got bored and went to go play Pole Position or something (I can still hear that droning sound in my memory!). Hence, I still can't ride a bike. RaggedyDad, who rode his own bike for miles to and from school, tried to teach me last summer in Belgium, but his sister's bike was a poor fit and I was pretty hopeless in my apprehension.

8. My mother has two sisters and one brother. Her sisters both have only sons. So I'm my grandmother's only granddaughter through one of her own daughters. Being that I'm my mother's only daughter, Ann is (so far) the only continuation of the "chain of women" phenomenon in our family.


I think that most people I'd tag have either done this already or been tagged. If anyone who hasn't been tagged yet wants to do this meme, consider yourself tagged!

p.s. triLcat, the Polarity Meme is my next one, although I may do a somewhat abridged version!

Erev Shabbos Entertainment

Finally, the concrete, rusty-nail, ancient "playground of doom" behind our area of the apartment complex where we live has been replaced!

We've been watching the various stages of tearing down and rebuilding over the last week, and it has been really fascinating. Sometimes, progress was amazing, and sometimes it just looked like a bunch of workers in the hot sun all scratching their heads, simultaneously baffled.

They seem to be nearly done, with just a padded floor to lay out and a few more finishing touches. All the local kids can't wait to get in there. I'm glad because the equipment seems age-appropriate for my kids, with more closed-in sides and easier access to the slides than some of the other play-structures within close walking distance.

I never bothered taking any before shots of the eyesore monstrosity, but here's where "our playground" is holding now:

Meal-Jacked!

Is it just me, or does having kids around mean that there are very rarely times when I get to eat without one or two extra little mouths hovering about, vying for a bite?

Accompanying these attempts to hijack my meals are cute phrases like, "Me too! Me too!" although Andy usually prefers to call out, "Iwannin!" (I want it) and Ann has taken to coming up close to me and trying to flatter her way onto my plate ("Mommy, I really love you, Mommy. I like you. Can I have some please . . ?").

I like to eat in peace, and while I realize that, for the most part, those days are over, it sometimes seems as though I only get to taste every fourth or fifth bite! I guess it would be different if early on I had been very adamant about "Mommy's Food," but it seems this is not the most territorial of households.

Thankfully my kids are good eaters, with nice appetites, healthy-ish tastes, and the willingness to try new foods. But I think there's still no greater way to make a food appealing to them than to start eating it myself. Anything from a bowl of cereal to a real meal to a glass of water lends itself to frequent meal-jacking.

When Ann was just starting to eat regular food, I could get away with continuing to cook for just me and RaggedyDad, and taking off a bit of food to give to her. Now that she's a bigger and hungrier kid, she actually needs to be counted in the shopping and cooking equation!

But Andy puts us all to shame. Eating is his forte, and he tries to eat each meal several times by meal-jacking every other member of the family. I remember when my brothers were teenagers and food would literally disappear before it had more than a few minutes to get comfortable in its spot in the fridge. The day Andy's big-boy appetite really kicks into high gear is going to be a momentous (and pricey!) one around here.

Another hidden un-benefit of all this meal-jacking is that it's also a great way to ensure that when one of us is sick, we all get sick very quickly. Just another way we like to spread the love around.

Considering that the RaggedyKids' bedtime runs rather early, I do often have the option of waiting until they're asleep to eat. But I kind of like to eat together with them and then get everything cleaned up together.

I just have to be prepared to be meal-jacked. Yet again.

Work and Play

RaggedyDad finished his finals on Monday, but starts "Summer" classes on Sunday! Yikes! Haven't these people ever heard of Mother's Day?! Plus it was "month-end" for him at work (although it seems like it's always month-end).

We also got some advance cooking and baking done in the house, both for us and for a family we're friends with who just brought home baby #5. It's great living in such a community. I remember what a huge help those weeknight suppers were after Andy was born!

As I wrote in the comments on A Mother in Israel's recent post about kids helping out, Ann and Andy are usually in the thick of everything that goes on over here. The kitchen stepstool is big enough to accomodate them both for now, and they're little enough to be genuinely excited by tasks like checking eggs, pouring sugar, and mixing batter (gently please!)



I try as much as possible to leave no or very few errands for Sunday, since RD is almost never around for the kids' bedtime during the week. We all get about 45 minutes every morning together, since Ann and Andy are early risers, but it's not much. I really dislike the idea of Sunday being devoted to running in and out of stores and other boring tasks.

Instead, we really try to make Sunday about going out and enjoying nature together whenever possible and weather-permitting. Outdoor photos of the kids are the best, and most parklike settings are free, or very reasonably priced.

Sunday was the English calendar date of our engagement, which took place at another nearby park. We came across a pet fair at the same park, complete with cute, cheesy fair activities.







As long as we're getting a good balance of work and play in at the Raggedys, we stay happy . . !

What Do You Call Them?

Secretly, I married RaggedyDad because he planned to have his kids call him "Papa" which I thought was so cute.

Okay, not really. But I do think often about what children call their parents. I grew up calling my mother "Mommy" or later, as a teenager, just "Ma!" We're back to "Mommy" now. She's not really the type to be called "Mom" and although my Israeli father refers to her as "Ima" when speaking to us kids, we never really called her that.

With my father, there was no question he'd be "Abba". Anyone who has heard his gravelly voice and blend of teddy bear/intimidating has probably wanted to call him "Abba" themselves. When we moved to America, I had a brief phase where I wanted to call him "Daddy" but it just felt too silly with him and didn't stick at all.

I think most of my friends growing up lived in "Mom and Dad" households.

RaggedyDad is Russian, and it was clear that his own kids would call him "Papa." Once Ann started referring to him as Papa, I do remember some emotion on his part. His own "Papa" died when RaggedyDad was just six. After so many years without a Papa, it came with mixed feelings to actually be the Papa.

While speaking to Ann and Andy, RaggedyDad often refers to me as "Mama" and sometimes they call me "Mama", but not usually. When Ann was smaller and wanted to get the attention of both parents, she cleverly decided to call us "MaPa." I hear her and Andy use the MaPa term once in a while.

Since this is what they've always heard, my kids view the term "Papa" as the original, basic meaning for "father." Ann tells me that other kids call their Papas other names, like Abba, Daddy, or Tatty. But, she tells me, it all means "Papa". When we did a round-robin playgroup and sang "The Wheels on the Bus," we had six kids and four terms for father. So our circle time lyric was a rushed combination - "The Abbas/Daddies/Tatties/Papas on the bus say 'I love you!'" Whew! Funnily, all the mothers were called "Mommy."

Readers: What do you/did you call your parents? Did you feel like it was the norm or something unusual? Did it change as you grew up? What do your kids call you/do you plan to have your kids call you?

Lastly, I want to express how sorry I am for the loss that my very dear sister-in-law "L" has just sustained of her own "Dad", nearly 20 years after losing her Mom.

Obstacles

Now that Andy is old enough to be a playmate for Ann, his biggest thrill is when she gets home from preschool and they can spend the afternoon playing together (with some strategic intervention by Mommy, of course).

Having kids old enough to play together can often lead to having kids old enough to fight over toys, but overall, they enjoy one another's company. Ann usually comes up with some kind of plan or idea for what the game is, and Andy provides a hapless combination of joining in and totally missing her point.

Lately, we've been in the midst of a super-family-cleanup. The poundage of "stuff" we've gotten rid of makes me feel lighter and calmer, but it also makes me not want to buy anything ever again! Apartments can get cluttered easily, so I'm hoping we can continue to stay ahead of the game and focus on using what we have.

Today's activity involved Ann setting up an obstacle course and trying to teach Andy to follow her through it (I've said it before: Who needs a puppy?). There were some falls followed by kisses, some moments of lying down on the various parts, some points where the corn-popper-vacuum needed to be brought out (though I am not sure why).

But overall, the idea of obstacles didn't frustrate, annoy, or worry the kids. It was thrilling and funny to them to face the challenge of something in their way. Another lesson learned courtesy of the RaggedyKids.

Purim Rundown

Princess Ann's costume - $17



Swashbuckling Andy showing his Piratitude - Arrrgh! - $11



All the NY cousins looking out the window together - priceless.