John and Shoshi and Co.!

Our neighbors from the Kibbutz came to visit us for Shabbos, and it was awesome.

BSM and Nosie-Boy didn't remember each other at all (no surprise there), but they had a blast. We also got to meet their latest addition, Simcha, who's about the same age Nosie-Boy was when we met him. It's fun to see how similar and how different they are/were.

Really, though, there's nothing like swapping stories with people who are going through almost the exact same things (aliya within the same few months, kid the exact same age) we're going through. We need to do this more often, even if we do live two hours away from each other.

A Relic of a Bygone Era

BSM went in for a developmental check-up last week. These are normal Israeli things that happen periodically until the age of 6, or so.

The doctor asked me about his verbal and social skills, and also asked what his daycare provider thinks of his developmental progress. Being a clever doctor, she didn't ask BSM to demonstrate any of his verbal skills, because she doesn't expect two-and-a-half-year olds to talk to strangers. Instead, the doctor gave him a box of blocks and asked him to build a tower, and then put down some paper and a pencil and asked him to draw something.

With his right hand still holding the box of blocks (he'd already put the blocks away, oddly neat child that he is), BSM picked up the pencil with his left hand and put it to the paper. "Wait, wait," said the doctor. She took everything out of his hands, lay the pencil back on the desk, and asked, "Now what hand do you use to pick up the pencil?" BSM obediently picked up the pencil in his right hand and drew something. "That's right," the doctor said approvingly.

I understand checking if he's right- or left-handed, as well as making sure that the test for handedness is sound. I just think it's funny that the doctor didn't approve of a child showing signs of being left-handed.

Oh. My. Gosh.

I saw this on a table in the lunchroom, and asked, "Wait, is that what I think it is?"

Yes. Yes, it is. 

That, my friends, is prune yogurt. Why it's any odder than prune hamentaschen (which are The Best, and if you disagree with me, you are invited to my house for Purim, because you will leave all the yummy hamentaschen for me), I don't know, but...seriously???

Leaves

I don't think that rakes are a thing in this country, but the other day my office building seems to have decided that there were too many leaves out front. So someone went out with a pair of gardening gloves and a garbage bag...

Hopeful

I got an email from a company with which I've recently placed an order. It was such a long email that I had to open it in a new window to get to the bottom of the page, where "Unsubscribe" generally lives. When I got there, I found a hopeful little thing:

This message was sent to [my email address] by support@finalsale.co.il.
To remove yourself from this distribution list, click here.
To print this page, click here.

Aw, that's cute.  Yet somehow I doubt that anyone scrolls to the footer because they want to print the junkmail...

An Oddly Social Week

I'm having an odd whirlwind of events: yesterday I had a reunion with my high-school senior adviser, today I'm paying a shiva call to the family of the founder of my seminary, and tomorrow I'll go to Leah Schwartz's son's bris. A discordant, busy week, and I guess 2 for 3 in the "good" category is a decent score.