Chanukah School

BSM and FF have school during Chanukah. Since the public school system is officially on Chanukah Break, they only have half-days, with Torah-subjects only.

BSM's rebbe sent the parents a message last night, asking us to send flashlights to school today. This morning, he sent us this photo (along with photos showing happy kiddies, but those are not for the internet):

This brilliant man ran class from inside a blanket fort today. Because it's Chanukah, so we learn Torah in caves, just like during the Chanukah era. 

😜

A few weeks ago, I was holding BY, who, by-the-by, is now three years old and has a haircut. He is also, as you will presently see, following in FF's footsteps, and is clearly competing for the title of Family Goofball.

BY made some sort of noise, and I, being a bit of a goofball myself, told him, "Sh! BY is sleeping!"

BY laughed, raised his eyebrows, and said he was awake. 

I said no, BY's eyes are closed, he is definitely sleeping.

BY raised eyebrows waaaaay up and said, "Nooooo, eyes open!"

I laughed and, taking pity on the kid, agreed with him that his eyes were opened, and he was, in fact, awake.

I looked down again a few seconds later, and BY's little fingerlach were desperately holding his right eyelid closed, as he attempted to keep his left eye open more than a slit. 

I laughed. 

BY proclaimed, "Look! Eyes open and closed!"

Immigration Day Wrap-Up (2021)

Speaking of Old Drafts, here's a draft from 2021 that just needed a tiny bit of polishing.

*** 

I ended up just sending BSM to school with his typical French Toast sandwich for lunch on Immigration Day. I come from America, I made you food similar to the food I ate in America, it is American food. Be done with this foolishness.

BSM came home from school on Immigration Day and said that he liked the kubaneh provided for the class by a Yemenite mother, which he said tasted like sweet challah. But BSM said he really liked the food provided by some mother whose family comes from Eastern Europe. BSM couldn't remember what it was called, but described the food as "Ashkenazi. It was like wrapped-up malawach with leben inside. It was soooo yummy. And the leben was sweet!" Friends, it seems that this was the first time my he-doesn't-know-he's-Ashkenazi son ate blintzes.

More importantly, obviously, was the fact that Abba II went in and talked to the kids, who were interested in what he had to say. And BSM's face just lit up when he told me that Husbinator sat next to BSM during Abba II's talk.

The winning story of the day though, is a Family Reunion.

BSM's teacher told the class about how his grandfather moved to Russia, then got send to Siberia during WWII, after which he made his way to Iran, then walked through all of Iran, Iraq and Syria with his wife and daughter until they got to Israel. 

Then the gym teacher happened to walk by, and BSM's teacher asked the gym teacher to share his family's immigration story. So the gym teacher told the class that his great-grandfather was sent to Siberia during WWII, and then eventually made his way to Iran, then walked through all of... Hang on, said BSM's teacher. What? The teachers compared notes. They compared names. They are cousins.

Yom HaAliya

I have a draft sitting in my blog that was written on the 10th of Nissan one year, the day set aside by the Israeli Government as Immigration Day, since the 10th of Nissan is the day that B'nei Yisrael finally crossed the Jordan River and entered Eretz Yisrael. I didn't post the draft then, because it is too important to me to say imperfectly, and the draft is far from perfect. 

But today is Yom HaAliya again (I know someone who knows the guy responsible for moving Immigration Day from "a few days before Pesach" to "the week of Parshas Lech Lecha"), and looking at the draft again, I think that it is too important for me not to say at all, and at least the draft begins to say it.

So I'll say it now, and maybe some other year I'll say it more elegantly, more tactfully, more convincingly. 

***

At some point after I made aliyah, I decided that I wouldn't be that Annoying Person who's always annoying her friends and family to join her cultish pyramid scheme in her extreme life choice. And eventually I stopped nudging some people about making aliya. And time passed, and I told myself, "Really, don't be that guy." And I pretty much stopped nudging more people. And I think it's been a good long while since I've nudged anyone to make aliyah. At least not if they didn't bring it up first. 

But I still miss you. 

So please, consider considering it. Is it possible for you to live in Israel? Short-term, if not long-term; in the future, if not now?

And hey, if you do come, come for theological reasons, so I don't have to feel guilty. But I'll be honest: I'm not asking for a Friend. I'm asking for me. Come home?

Cultural Differences

There's a spice blend here called Hawaij, which is available in a soup-type and in a coffee-type.

(Oh! Speaking of which, Turkish coffee comes in three types of packaging here: red [regular], green [with cardammom], and other [decaf]. People are slightly evil.)

Years and years ago, I bought some hawaij for Coffee, because it smelled nice. Eventually, I started using it instead of sugar. Coffee with hawaij tastes good, similar to pumpkin spice coffee. This is not shocking, as Wikipedia lists possible ingredients of coffee-hawaij as aniseeds (licorice), fennel seeds (licorice), ginger, cardamom, cloves, and cinnamon . Wiki also says "Although it is primarily used in brewing coffee, it is also used in desserts [and] cakes." So yeah, clearly, this is the Middle-Eastern version of a pumpkin spice blend. 

I am going through this stuff so slowly and I enjoy it so much that I donated half-a-container to the kitchen in my office. This way, I can drink my instant coffee with yummy spices, and other people can also enjoy the goodness. 

However, it turns out that the only thing other people can enjoy is a giggle at my expense. Apparently, in Israel, Pumpkin-Spice coffee is not an autumnal beverage enjoyed mainly by women. Here, Hawaij-flavored coffee is strictly for old Yemenite men. 

Whatever.

Israeli Humor

I've mentioned before that Israelis don't pun nearly as much as I expect. 

What I forgot to point out, though, is that Israelis play with psukim, instead. Here's a WhatsApp message  that we got from BSM's teacher this morning:

בוקר טוב!
א גזינטע ווינטער לכולם 🤗
ישנה תופעה מטרידה של שכחת סידורים כרונית בכיתה!
אבקש מההורים היקרים לוודא את קיומו של סידור בנם, ולשלחו אחר כבוד בתיקו, ויקויים בנו מקרא שכתוב ״שבו האובדים מארץ האשור והנדחים מארץ מצרים״…
תודה!

Which translates as:

Good Morning!
A Healthy Winter to everyone 🤗
There is a disturbing occurrence in the class of chronically forgetting siddurim!
I respectfully request that the parents verify the existence of their son's siddur, and send him another one in his backpack. May we experience the fulfillment of the verse, in which it is written "The lost will return from the land of Assyria and the outcasts from the land of Egypt"...
Thanks!

Worth the Salt

We ate lunch at a friend's house a few weeks ago, and they taught us that your standard 2 shekel/kg salt available in a paper packet in every Israeli grocery store does not have any added iodine.

Naturally, iodized salt is a bit more expensive, but even at 10 shekel/kg, (which includes a sturdy plastic tub for easy storage) it's hardly worth importing the stuff. Still, being me, I've been shopping around.

Yesterday, I finalized my purchase at 6 shekel/kg in a mid-level cardboard container, and we once again have iodized salt in our house.

Naturally, now I need to figure out what to do with the unopened packet of non-iodized salt. Never fear, I'll probably use it for the kids' crafts.  

Fall has Arrived

I was helping Husbinator take down schach from the sukkah last night, when I felt something squishy underfoot. My initial thought was maybe it was just dropped food, but I was right to be pessimistic. 

As I know from years of gan, signs of autumn include nachlielis (White Wagtail birds), falling leaves, wind, and... snails. And snails include slugs. ICK! 

Follow-Up

My last post mentioned a delightful website, IsItAJewishHolidayToday.com.

In a similar vein, Malka the Physicist would also like to introduce you to the humorous website www.HasTheLargeHadronColliderDestroyedTheWorldYet.com. Not sure how often this one's updated, but it's been accurate each and every time I've checked it.

For some light background reading (never trust a physicist who says that, ever: they are either totally out of touch or being willfully obtuse), see the less-humorous official webpage home.cern/science/accelerators/large-hadron-collider/safety-lhc

Oh, Right.

Yesterday, the day after Shavuot, things seemed a little quiet on the American Front. Finally, around 3 pm, I figured it out. 

To double-check my hypothesis, I visited IsItAJewishHolidayToday.com. (I've been there before, but always as a joke.) Well looky there. That explains that.

Drinking the Kool-Aid (or Apple Juice, as the Case May Be)

Husbinator recently bought a gallon of Kirkland Apple Juice, because it was on clearance due to an imminent expiration date. Wanting to know just how fast we should plan to drink this thing, I checked the "Best By" date, which read 06/11/2022. My knee-jerk reaction, exclaimed aloud was, "Oh, come on! November is not that soon!" Apparently, even my frequent reading of dates on communications from the US Patent & Trademark Office hasn't been enough to prevent the change of my expectations of how dates are written. 

Also, dude, it tastes just like Juice Boxes!

Also also, the English label proudly proclaimed "Not From Concentrate," and listed the single ingredient as "apple juice." The Hebrew label, on the other hand, listed the sole ingredient as "מיץ תפוחים מרוכז." I know that "ריכוז" is concentrate, so, confused, I stopped and read everything carefully again. I then realized that the correct translation of the Hebrew ingredients is not "apple juice from concentrate," but rather, "concentrated apple juice." Well, I guess that explains why American apple juice is so very sweet.

Translation

This came up around Pesach-time, due to "Who Knows One?", so I'd better hurry up and post it now as it becomes relevant closer to Shavuos.

FF (with a huge smile and suppressed giggles): You know, some people say that לוחות in English is tablets! (bursts out laughing) 

(HUSBINATOR and I exchange that "Aw, classic kid-learning-a-new-word/definition!" look)

FF: Haha! Moshe did not get screens on Har Sinai!!!

Huh. That's right. Modern kids would think of ipads etc. when they hear "tablets."

Yom HaAzmaut

Independence Day was good. I went out briefly with Husbinator and night, and saw throngs of people, and it was Joyous!

It was a huge street party, with lots of simultaneous concerts on temporary stages up and down the street, and some fireworks. It was loud. (So loud! For so long!) But it was happy.

These photos from the Rehovot Municipality Facebook page are very similar to what I saw and how I felt.

Schoolwork and Memorial Day

When my kid asks for help with his homework, I don't expect to have an emotional reaction (other than possibly the natural frustration of doing homework with a child who is frustrated himself). But soon before Yom Hazikaron [Memorial Day] last year, BSM asked me to help him with his Language Arts homework, which was very light analysis of "My Brother Yonatan," a poem by Rivka Elizur, and I ended up crying. 

Fair warning: I just read the poem again, and now I'm crying again. So read at your own risk. Background for the poem is that (a) in Israel, the very somber Memorial Day is immediately followed by the very joyous Independence Day and (b) yes, seven-year-olds are rightfully assigned poems like this in school.

Here is a link to the poem. If you click on the headphones icon at this link, you can listen to a recording of the poem.

I must include a translation here, but my translation is a bare ghost of the original Hebrew, which has a subtle rhyme scheme and meter. I don't think I could ever capture it all in English, and certainly not without days and weeks of work.

"Yonatan My Brother" Rivka Elizur

Yonatan my brother!
He was my brother
He isn't anymore...
And my mother is always sad
Very sad.
She sits sits...
Is silent thinks...
In front of the picture of my brother Yonatan.

And I am Michael
I'm the little one,
And my brother in the Mountains of Chevron fell
And didn't come back...

The enemy in his hordes of thousands
Battled then
Toward Yerushalayim, to the capital,
And my brother and with him his friends
Fought heroically
And stopped the enemy that was fighting
With all their might...
That's what my mother told me.

Yonatan my brother!
He's wearing in the picture
His hat, a knit hat
To keep him warm in the evening,
At night, while on guard
At the post on the mountain...
And his eyes in the pictures are laughing... and all in all...

It's like he never fell killed
It's like he's alive and he's my brother Yonatan
And I am his little brother
And maybe in a little bit
We will walk hand in hand
In the square. And we'll be happy with everybody
And we'll dance and we'll sing... And yet.
She's sad, my mother
And my brother Yonatan disappeared.
He isn't, he isn't with me.

I sat in my room in the corner
And my eyes were looking at the picture...
Then my mother looked at me suddenly
And she said: Michael!
It's a holiday today, my son, for the country.
A holiday for the State of Israel.

Come let's go out in the square to the People
And we'll celebrate and we'll be happy.
Yonatan in the mountains did fight
For this...

Look Michael, at the picture
Doesn't it seem
As if he's also happy...
On this day of nation-wide celebration?

And we went out to celebrate in the streets...
And my brother Yonatan
Is watching us go
With openhearted eyes.

And now I'm crying all over again. Memorial day is hard.

Life Imitates Art

BSM and FF each get to pick a book that Husbinator or I read to them before bed. If the book is too long, we read part of it. Last night, both boys chose a page (well, technically, two facing pages) of I Spy.

FF, looking near the letter B: Hey, I found a rabbit! 
Me, pointing near the letter R: Hey, me too! 
FF: No, that's a duck! Or a platypus...

I had no choice, really. Late as it was, a bonus real-life search was initiated, and a bonus book was found and read. 

'Tis a delightful book, originally written in English:

חג האביב [The Holiday of Spring]

More than once, I have tried and failed to sprout an avocado seed. The Internet says it's so easy: just stick in toothpicks, balance over a glass of water, wait a few days, and – hey presto! – experience the magic of a tiny avocado tree. 

But it never works. Not for me.

This past year, it seemed that every single time we ate avocadoes, FF asked to save an avocado seed and watch it grow. But I've been burned too often, so I kept avoiding the issue. 

Eventually though, I decided to try again. 

Having no idea why every single one of my previous attempts had failed, I decided to change as many variables as I could. A few months ago, without mentioning anything to FF, I took an intact avocado seed (unnicked by any knife), washed and dried it veeeery gently, did not poke at it with toothpicks, and balanced it over a baby bottle filled with water. We don't have a lot of direct sunlight inside, so I put the avocado pit on an outer windowsill and almost dared to hope. 

Dishearteningly but not surprisingly, nothing happened. I didn't have the heart to throw it out, though, and I even topped off the water once in a while. Why not.

Eventually, FF found the avocado seed, and came running to me: "It's growing!!" he said. 

Luckily, I didn't believe him, so I wasn't too disappointed when the "growth" turned out to be just a tiny dingly thing on the bottom of the pit, which, for all I knew, had been on the pit all along. Or might even be mold. Ick.

But after a few days, the dingly bit was definitely longer, and it wasn't mold, after all. The avocado seed had rooted! Seeing as it had been weeks and all the pit had done was put forth a tiny root, the Internet was still a Big Stinky Liar about "sprouting within a few days." But still, this was progress.

For weeks, we watched the avocado root grow and grow and grow, and eventually I was brave enough to guess that the avocado pit might actually even sprout one day, maybe when... 

And the proverbial penny finally dropped. 

We only buy avocados (or get them from my boss's farm) when they're in season, namely during the winter. That means we've only ever tried to grow these things in (wait for it)... The winter. Plants sprout in (say it with me, class!)... The spring. 

Maybe that's why on the Internet, where people keep their houses all nice and toasty year-round, avocado seeds sprout willy-nilly. But we rarely keep house much warmer than the ambient temperature. 

(We're one of those, "if you're cold, put on a sweater; if you're still cold, put on a pair of long johns"-type families.)

Since this particular avocado seed is in its natural habitat (yes, avocado trees like growing outdoors in Rehovot), one might expect that this particular avocado seed will behave naturally. 

I may be an ignorant city girl, but I am aware that in Nature, stuff sprouts in the spring. And having a solid Jewish education, I know that Winter is for sleeping and rooting and gathering strength, and Spring is for waking and ascending and growing. I know that planting is a metaphor for faith, and both require letting go and having patience. 

So an unusually cold Purim passed, with the only changes in the avocado pit being below the surface, as its roots continued to grow. And sure enough, as we approached the season of Pesach, which is both חג האביב [The Holiday of Spring] and the Holiday of Emunah [faith], our avocado seed finally sprouted.

Right on time.

So Meta

While cleaning for Pesach last night, I found... our shopping list from last Pesach.

Household Tip (Test Post)

As my email-subscribing crew has hopefully just discovered, Blogger is resisting sending out automated emails. I may or may not have found a solution, so I need a test post, stat.

Reaching for inspiration, I see that I just put on moisturizer because my thumb (!) is chapped. Go figure, it's just my right thumb, just at the top right corner of my nail, but it's chapped badly enough that there's a little fissure.

This reminds me of advice I got from my coworker/friend back when I was a technical writer. She said that in the winter, there's nothing better for chapped-skin-fissures than diaper cream. 

Now you know.

So let's see if The Blog Email Emails.

Wisdom of His People

Last week, BSM was having a hard night. He had missed computer time due to participating in other enjoyable activities (mainly a long phone call with a friend), then he missed more bedtime book then he had bargained for (because he asked for a walk with Husbinator to calm down about missing computer).

Poor BSM was genuinely crushed at being denied his routine. Husbinator and I sympathized, and we explained that sometimes you just have to pick a single thing from multiple nice things, but BSM was still hurt. 

As a last-ditch effort, I decided to share some Ancient Wisdom of His People. I asked BSM to prepare himself to learn something important. He took a deep breath. I looked at him soberly and declaimed, slowly and clearly: "One Tuchus. Can't dance. At two weddings."

BSM blinked and asked me to repeat that. I did. BSM laughed, and lo, he took heart.

I learned that Life Lessons are expressed as aphorisms for a reason. Also, as I already knew, tushy jokes are funny.

Later, since Husbinator and I are learning Yiddish, we decided to try to translate that expression back into Yiddish. When we went online to check our work, I learned that technically, the expression is, "You can't dance at two weddings with one tuchus." 

On Singing and Scooting

FF's gan is about three-quarters of a mile from our house. Until about two weeks ago, I took FF to and from gan either on my electric scooter or by bus. Recently, however, we acquired a scooter for FF, so he and I scoot to gan together on our respective scooters. I like this arrangement: it's cheaper and more relaxing than going by bus, and it's safer and more relaxing than giving him a ride on my electric scooter. 

Lately, we started singing as we go. On one ride we sang "The Ants Go Marching One by One;" on the next ride we sang "אחד מי יודע" [Who Knows One"]. 

Yesterday morning, FF requested "Chad Gadya." I started in Aramaic, but quickly switched to Hebrew, because FF doesn't understand Aramaic. Sure enough, a few lines into the Hebrew version, FF said, "Hey, I know this story! It's about the Mitzri [Egyptian] and the Jew talking!" That sounds like something BSM said at the Pesach Seder last year. Nice.

We sang "Chad Gadya," (or more accurately, its Hebrew on-the-fly-translation by Yours Truly, "G'di Echad") a few times over the course of the day, including at dinner, during which Husbinator and BSM supplied the traditional sound effects. (The Abba's sound effects were cleverly and humorously provided by Husbinator as, "Keep your feet in front of your chair!" "Have another bite of food!") During dinner, BSM also spontaneously told us that really "Chad Gadya" is a story about a Mitzri and a Jew having a theological debate about who (or Who) the True G-d is. 

This morning on our way to gan, FF requested "Chad Gadya" in "Aravit" [Arabic]. I smiled and told him that I'd sing it in Aramit [Aramaic], instead. 

I started singing, but I paused almost immediately to translate both "ואתא" [and came] and "שונרא" [cat] for him. Heroically, I sang all the way through the lines about the Dog and the Stick without stopping to traslate. FF independently supplied all of the correct noises. 

Then I broke down and stopped to translate "נורא," [fire] because that is just such a useful and delightful word. 

(The sheer number of other words in both Hebrew and Aramaic which are related to either light or fire and have a nun and a resh! The stories that open up when you realize that Rabbi Meir [light, Heb.] and Rabbi Nehurai [light, Ar.] might very well be the same person! Oh, and speaking of light and Rabbi Meir, remember that story I like about light and goodness? Yup, that's a story about Rabbi Meir [light] waiting for the light. But I digress.) 

FF blew me away with his response to the information that נורא means fire. "Oh," he shot back, "like תנור [oven]!" I never thought of that, but it sounds eminently reasonable, as the Mishna talks about clay ovens [תנור] that cook food using the heat of fires lit inside. I congratulated FF on a connection well-made, and I continued singing.

And now that I sit down to type up this little story, would you look at that? The Wikipedia entry for "Tandoor" absolutely supports FF's theory.

The English word [Tandoor] comes from Urdu tandūr, which came from Persian tanūr (تَنور) or (تَندور), which all mean (clay) oven. According to the Dehkhoda Persian Dictionary, the Persian word ultimately came from the Akkadian word tinūru (𒋾𒂟), which consists of the parts tin "mud" and nuro/nura "fire" and is mentioned as early as in the Akkadian Epic of Gilgamesh...

Nice.

Important Distinction

Around bedtime yesterday, I noticed that BSM was scratching his knee and looking quite uncomfortable. I had a look at his knee, and saw it looked like he'd been scratching it for a few days already. I asked what was wrong, and BSM responded briefly through his scratching, "Dry skin." That lined up with how his knee looked, so I offered BSM moisturizer, at which point, FF suddenly grabbed his calf and started moaning.

Not being my first rodeo, I cut off FF and asked if he also wanted cream. Face contorted, writhing dramatically, FF managed to gasp out, "No--" before he cut himself off with a pained moan.

"Sweetie," I told him dryly. "It's fine. BSM is getting cream. If you also want cream, I'm happy to give you cream, too."
"I don't want--" FF managed, as he rocked back and forth, clutching his calf.
"FF." I repeated, "I hear that your skin is also dry. If you want cream, you can have cream. It's okay."
"I don't want cream," FF insisted, massaging his calf now. "I need cream."

Good Thing Someone Knew Better

Remember when The Caped Avenger nearly didn't get a birthday cake when he turned 2? It was Sukkos, there would be dessert anyway, and what does a just barely two-year-old know about birthday traditions? Luckily, Mooshub got clearance from Ema and, a few days before yontiff, Mooshub told The Caped Avenger his birthday was coming up, and did The Caped Avenger know what we do on birthdays? With no further prompting, The Caped Avenger's face lit up, and he declared, "Caaaaaaake!" And so he got a birthday cake on the Second Day of Sukkos, as was his due. 

I love that story, but it seems that I didn't quite internalize its Life Lesson.

You see, Baby Yoda had a birthday party in school when he turned two a few months ago. His teacher was trying to iron out details with me, and I actually told her that BY didn't know the difference, anyway. Luckily, she insisted that of course he does, and I didn't argue, because I want her to love my child. 

Gentle reader, of course BY knew the difference. He loved the fact that it was his birthday, and he absolutely demanded cake (which yes, he got at home, too: fear not). When I showed BY the pictures and videos that his teacher sent us on Whatsapp, he said "Dedet!" [yom huledet = birthday], and watched the videos over and over again, providing color commentary. 

A few days later, his teacher gave us a decorated posterboard with about 6 of the pictures printed out, and BY carried that around the house for days saying "dedet, dedet," along with naming some of the kids in the photos.

Two-year-olds, man. They look like walking babies, but they know what's up.

Well, Excuse Me

A day or two ago, I confirmed with BSM that he knows there's a war going on between Russia and Ukraine right now. I don't think he rolled his eyes at me, but he came pretty close, with his sweetly patronizing, "Yeah Ema, of course. Everyone at school is talking about it. It is what we call "שיחת היום"

Science is Fun

I don't think that I blogged about the research Husbinator and I did before deciding to vaccinate BSM and FF (of whom only FF got the 2nd shot, because BSM got COVID, presumably Omicron-flavored, after his 1st shot).

However, I do think it is important to note that (a) we did do some research and (b) the CDC does not believe that the Pfizer vaccine causes children aged 5 - 11 to swallow pennies.

(For posterity, we were waiting for data on Oodles of children before vaccinating our kids. We decided to go ahead and vaccinate after reading this CDC report, which includes data from 7+ million kids who had been vaccinated in the US, of which a couple of myriad had been tracked.) 

א קאמיש קינד

And here's one more old post from the archives, dated February 2021.

The following conversation took place as FF was going upstairs after dinner.

FF: I will tell you when to pick books and brush teeth. (Repeats this a time or two until I finally am goaded into responding.)
Me: No, I will tell you when to pick books and brush teeth. 
FF: Oh, whoops, I got mixed up and thought I was the grown-up.
Me: (Nada, because I'm not sure if I'm allowed to laugh at that one or not, but it's definitely funny.)
FF: No, you see, I was joking!

Big Ju-Ju

A few years ago now, a client asked me to review a contract. Not being a lawyer, I am not at all qualified to to that, but I O So Professionally told him that our firm would take care of it.

So a few days leter, I sat with my boss, who is a lawyer, and we edited a three-page contract. Folks, words are powerful magic. Contract law is definitely related to why there is such a strong tradition of words as powerful, of names having magic, of how Terry Pratchett wrote of fierce and fearsome and funny creatures who harbor a mortal dread of lawyers, for against lawyers there is seemingly no defense.

Move two words here, delete a word there, add a single letter, and millions of dollars are gained or lost. And there's no instruction manual for this, you just... do it. Make it up as you go. Roll the words around inside of you, feeling the possibilities, finding the paths along which reality can branch, and with careful simplicity, choose the right path. It's all perfectly clear. Deep magic.

Oh, yeah, and make sure that someone who actually went to law school, and who has a lot of experience in the field covered by your contract, reviews everything very, very carefully.

Cooking Like a Pro

I found this post in my drafts folder, from who-knows-when.

Yesterday, Husbinator went to a wedding (this must have been that COVID-so-only-ten-guests wedding), so I made dinner. Technically, I served leftovers, but there wasn't enough for a whole dinner, so I turned it into stir fry.

No problemo. I've seen Husbinator do this enough times that I know what ingredients I want for stir fry. Namely onions & garlic, because I always want those, and bell pepper, but not too much because we're running low. I won't use zucchini, because the boys often won't eat it, or carrots, because they're annoying to cook. The remaining options are green beans or broccoli, and I know to choose broccoli because boys prefer it over green beans.

I also know how to cook stir fry. Namely mise en place, because things always go more smoothly when everything is ready to go before anything starts cooking, and the into-the-pan-order is first onions, then garlic, then pepper, then frozen broccoli, so everything gets cooked without getting mushy. 

What I don't know is how to season stir fry. Granted, I could play around, but I won't win. 

So I figure I'll help myself out, and use leftover fats and sauces that were so yummy that I froze them instead of throwing them out. I rummaged through the freezer and pulled out garlic margarine from a few weeks ago, fat from Husbinator's Zimmern beef from before that, and a mystery dark gravy from a flieshig container at the very bottom of the freezer. 

So I mise en placed, heated the pan, melted the fats, sautéed onion, (remembered to put rice in the rice cooker) added garlic, added bell pepper, added broccoli and mystery gravy, stirred till mystery gravy melted, then turned off the stove and covered the pan.

We sat down to dinner, and I figured I'd save everyone aggravation by telling the boys that the stir-fry doesn't taste quite like Abba's, and they are free to choose to just eat rice and soy sauce. I also decided to treat myself and just let FF pick out whatever he wanted from the pan, because he loves serving himself. 

So FF ate rice and broccoli and chicken, which is a fine dinner. But BSM only ate the offered rice and soy sauce, and he wouldn't touch the stir-fry no matter how patiently I sat in wait. The boys never touch the stir-fry initially, but they almost always eat it in the end. What was going on tonight? 

I asked BSM vaguely what was up, and he said that I said it didn't taste like Abba's, so BSM isn't interested. OK, I say, it's not exactly like Abba's, but it's pretty close. That was the truth, too. The stir fry hadn't been that great when I tasted it initially, but it turned out all it needed was one last mix and time to sit, and by now it really does taste great.

Skeptically, BSM allows me to serve him a small scoop of whatever comes. He takes a skeptical bite, and says with happy outrage, "It tastes exactly like Abba's!" and proceeds to chow down.

I did it! Granted, I used Husbinator-created flavoring agents, but I'll take what I can get!

Coffee

I used to give BSM and FF coffee as a special treat. Dissolve a tiny bit of decaf coffee and a bit of sugar in some hot water, add a nice amount a milk, and hey presto! Kids' Coffee. 

Recently, FF has begun asking for coffee again, so I give him some. He gets a real kick out of our thermochromic mug.

But sometimes we need to leave the house before FF finishes his coffee, so I have to transfer the undrunk coffee into a to-go cup.

Titles

It rubs me the wrong way when I am addressed as "אימא יקרה" (dear mother),  by people who are not my children. It bugs me when I am addressed as "dear mother" on a mass SMS sent out in general to mothers, and it bugs me even more when I am addressed as "dear mother" by people whose names I know and who know my children's names. Stop being sappy. I have a name: use it!

In a similar vein, it was recently pointed out in a humorous message sent out on social media (a "meme," as these things are known) that the two most frightening words in the Hebrew language are no longer "צבע אדום" ("Code Red," which means to seek immediate shelter from an incoming rocket attack) but "...הורים יקרים" ("Dear Parents..." which nowadays ends all too often with "...and now you must stand in line for hours and hours before returning home to quarantine").

But recently Husbinator was greeted in a grocery store by one of BSM's smiling classmates with, "Shalom, Abba shel BSM!" ("Hi, BSM's Dad!"). And I realized that BSM's friends have absolutely been calling me "Ema shel BSM" forever, and I introduce myself as "Ema shel [son in question]" to my son's friends without qualm. 

After all, this is perfectly reasonable solution to the facts that I do not approve of my kiddies friends calling me by my first name, and that titles are ridiculously formal in this country. 

Are titles virtually non-existant here because titles are anti-communist? Is it because last names are an artificial construct of the anti-semitic-archy? Whatever the reason, being addressed as "Mrs. Last Name" is unheard of. Formal letters mailed to me by formal agencies address me as "First Name Last Name," or, if things are really formal, as "Last Name First Name."

Addressing people as "Sir/Ma'am" is also simply Not Done, and I think it actually verges on rude to address an individual thus. Starting automated mass-announcements over PA systems with "גבירותי ורבותי" ("Ladies and Gentlemen") is fine, but that's about it. In a pinch, unknown individuals may be addressed with some sort of descriptive: Girl/Boy, Lass/Lad, Driver, Rabbi, My Brother, Man, Aunt, or even Dad/Mom (without the "dear!") are all totally fine. But Sir/Ma'am? Not Very.

Anyway, the point of all this is that the whole "Parent of Child" form of address may perhaps shed light on the Arabic form of address "Abu Eldest Son" ("Father of Eldest Son"), which is used in lieu of "Title Last Name." 

That's it. Just a long rambling. Very interesting in my head, I assure you. Sigh. This is why I have 46 drafts saved and nothing new posted.

Trust

You know what? I realized it's been over a month since my last post, so my goals for today include cleaning up and posting some back-logged drafts. 

I found my laptop in my work bag this one morning not too long ago, and I nearly took it out. I prefer not to schlep. But I had a vague recollection of putting the laptop in my bag for a reason, and not just to get it out of the way. I debated, but I decided to trust myself, and left my laptop in my bag.

All the way to work, I tried to figure out why I could possibly need the laptop. I had nothing saved to the laptop that wasn't on my desktop at work; I didn't have any outings to client offices planned. But what was done was done, and the laptop was with me. 

As soon as I sat down at my desk to sign in, it hit me: I need IT to fix audio issues in video conferencing software that a handful of my clients like more than I do (Zoom just works, why can't Microsoft Teams just work???), and I think there's a chance IT will take over my desktop while they do that! Well done me, trusting myself even when I don't know why.