The Joys of Raising Non-American Children

I recently took BSM to the dentist, and I got to teach him two "new" ways to while away the time. 

During our wait to see the hygienist, I taught BSM how to play "Dots and Boxes," which he hasn't learned from his friends yet. Unfortunately, upon looking up the actual game description, I see that I taught him to play incorrectly. (I remembered the rules being that each player draws one line on every turn. Now I see that every time a player completes a box, that player is supposed to immediately draw an additional line, which makes the game considerably more interesting.)

Also, due partly to faulty Waze directions, I ended up parking close to 1/3 of a mile away from the clinic. On our way back to the car, I taught BSM a new song. "However," I warned, "Before I teach you the song, I need to make it perfectly clear that you are never allowed to sing this song in the house. Ever. Because it is incredibly irritating." 

I then proceeded to sing "Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall." I got as far as 92 bottles before BSM cut me off, "Ema, stop. Please. You're right, this song is very irritating." I laughed and sang him just one last verse, from an alternate version of the song: "Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beeeer: they all fall down, crash to the ground, no more bottles of beer on the wall!"

A Good Creepy or a Bad Creepy? Not a Creepy at All.

My preferred mode of transportation around town is my electric scooter. It's faster than walking, and does parking is a breeze.

Husbinator, having bought me the scooter, also provides peer pressure to look as nerdy as possible while riding said scooter. Namely, if I'm scooting in conditions that cause cars to turn on their headlights, I wear a horrifically dorky reflector vest. I agree with Husbinator in principle, and as a driver, I love it when cyclists/scootists wear proper reflective gear, but as a scootist, it's just so, so dorky. So dorky.  

A few weeks ago, I was scooting home after dark, wearing my trusty reflector vest, when a car slowed down and started crowding me. Without thinking too much about it, I slowed down to let the car pass me, so I could maneuver around it safely. The car kept crowding me, and then I heard a man calling out the window.

Not a problem, I know how to deal with this: he is not talking to me. I mean, really, the driver could legitimately be yelling to that guy on the sidewalk over there, so I ignored the driver and continued moving over and back.

But the man kept calling out, and I heard a feminine conjugation, and the pedestrians in calling distance were all male, so I reluctantly tuned in. Sure enough, the driver (middle-aged, male) was absolutely yelling to me, and was even commenting on my appearance:

"Kol hakavod lach! Good for you! Kol hakavod that I can see you! Kol hakavod!"