Fun times, Cute Faces

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Perpetual Motion - and I don't Mean the Airplane

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Fun Math: Counting Down to Vacation!

We three.

The countdown began in earnest several days ago, but now, after a lot of meaningless and annoying erasing of numbers in a gimmick designed to teach us math, we can finally see light at the end of the tunnel: We are leaving for New York City in mere days! In fact, you can almost distill it into hours. But do so at hour own risk.

Here's a lesson for parents of small children: Don't start counting too soon. For instance, 30 days, never. Eleven days, pushing the limits. Three days, perhaps. One minute, best option yet. 

See, we have zero concept of time. Seconds blend in to years and we don't even know what that means. All I am aware of is right now, the present, and what I want at this very moment. So if you get me excited about seeing GongGong and the Statue of Liberty, my excitement indicates that I expect to see them NOW! I don't know what 10 days from now means. 

Hence, you, dear parents, have caused my slide into depression since all this hype has yet to be fulfilled. You keep saying GongGong and Mimi and yet all I see is you in the morning. 

And we haven't even embarked upon 12+ hours of plane time plus excruciating hours of security lines and changing planes at the Italian airport. You are taunting me with your promises. 

The countdown was exciting. For the first few days anyway.

Time is vague. Lucas, for example, uses the word "tomorrow" to indicate yesterday, today, later today and, obviously, tomorrow. Also next week. Tomorrow is now. Tomorrow happened. Tomorrow is yet to be. It is vague. Days, even more vague.

"Sleeps," maybe that makes more sense. But still somewhat obscure.

The Empire State Building ended up looking more like the Chrysler Building. Oops.

In his excitement, Lucas built a Statue of Liberty
replica comprised of blocks and Raia's bottle

But he had to defend it vociferously from certain destruction 

Raia had a point - it was her bottle. 

Look out America! Here we come!

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Best Bed Time Routine for Babies

Four little monkeys...

...launching themselves from the bed like NASA rockets...

...and enjoying every single moment of this semi-legal activity.

And this time none fell off and bumped his or her head! And no one jumped on Joshua either! Joshi, as he is known in our place, stood for a few seconds and then realized it was more fun (safe) to sit and benefit from our jumping. All of the bounce and none of the work. That's a baby for you - the younger they are, the more brilliant!

Our overall Monkeys on the Bed fall score is Raia 3, Daniel 2, Lucas 1. I'm uncertain who is considered the winner or loser here because in the world of babies, bruises and bumps are badges of honor.

Mommy has sanctioned this particular activity. Though extremely dangerous and prohibitively unacceptable in most beds worldwide, mommy ratified bed jumping at our home: In lieu of a backyard, which we do not have, we are allowed to jump on our parents' bed in order to spend our limitless reserves of energy. This is much easier and more accessible than gearing us up to brave four flights of stairs to find a nearby park.

We do not take this allowance for granted. Oh wait, yes we do! We toss their pillows on the floor, scale the flimsy ikea headboard and lick the wall in order to add flavor to our makeshift trampoline game!

It was the storm before the calm. But we slept well that night. After we were actually corralled into our beds. 

Eventually. 

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Mommy Guest Blogs: Savoring Inclusion’s Rare Rewarding Moments

See?! I can do it too!

Every so often I allow mommy to guest blog here at my site. And this time I am happy to reprint a blog of here that appeared here in the Times of Israel initially because its all about me, which is the point of this blog.

This version is better because it contains photos and videos, unlike the other black and white (yawn) original post. So enjoy rereading her words, but even more so, seeing my photos and videos!

My class <3

*****

Savoring Inclusion’s Rare Rewarding Moments
By Nicole Jansezian

While I could spend some time castigating the Israeli education system for its failures regarding inclusion, I must linger for a while longer in the happy afterglow of success and let it be a reminder that inclusion is worth the grueling effort.

We encountered a mountain of challenges this past year after our decision to mainstream our son in a municipal preschool. The first month is still a fog in my mind. Daniel was not assigned a personal aide for two weeks and so the school’s manager, who himself is responsible for the three classrooms on the premises and several others around the city, took responsibility for my son until he received a shadow two weeks into the school year.


Daniel had at least one apocalyptic meltdown per day. Without fail, he passed out for hours in the corner while the other children carried on with their day and learned as they were supposed to. And he came down with a tricky form of pneumonia – in other words, none of the symptoms but all of the pain, so we had no idea at the outset. It was a nightmare.

This went on for about a month until slowly the issues started to peel away and he (and we) adjusted to this new routine. But the initial shock still feels like yesterday.

So you can imagine our elation when, at Daniel’s end-of-the-year party last week, we saw displayed before our astonished eyes, the long awaited rewards of inclusion: Daniel participated in all of the choreography in the hour-long show. He knew exactly when he should sit, stand or wave his prop. He was on rhythm with the music and mouthed the words to all the songs.

He did every single thing he was supposed to do, when he was supposed to do it. At 4 that’s not a small feat for any child.

And best of all, after every song, he turned to face the audience and cheered “Yea! Yea! Yea!” and gave an enormous fist pump to celebrate his exploits.

You see, the most important lesson Daniel learned this year was recognizing and relishing his accomplishments. He knew how far he had come. He knew he accomplished something colossal. He knew he nailed it – and that was more important than actually nailing it. And it meant more to him, because it had come harder to him. Thus his theatrical cheering after each song.

Time for the fist pump and victory dance!

Daniel has Down syndrome, meaning an extra chromosome presents more challenges to him in the physical and mental arenas of life. He was in a fantastic special education daycare and preschool before we moved him. Our goal in mainstreaming was to provide a normative environment that would challenge him socially and academically.

With a supportive approach from the school’s manager, who took Daniel’s case personally, Daniel’s teacher, his aide, the surrounding staff and his fellow students, this experiment succeeded. This team effort – and Daniel’s performance at the party – give us hope for next year and motivation for the inevitable fight that lies ahead. Every single year.

We were easily the proudest parents in the room if not in the country on that day. Daniel’s performance made every tear, every battle and every agonizing day along the journey of inclusion worth it.

The price of inclusion is high. But its rewards are priceless.

Warning: Video content is copious and repetitive and may only be acceptable viewing for immediate family members at risk of abject boredom to anyone else!

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Getting in to Medical School

Firefighter Academy? Or preschool? Who wants him?

Last month, mommy and abba found a preschool for Lucas. How nice, right? They did so with still four months to go. No big deal, right?

Wrong!

Registration for ivy league medical school opened and closed in February! Oh, I'm sorry, did I say "Ivy League Medical School"? I meant preschool!!!

In Jerusalem, it is quite easy to mistake the two: The process for preschool registration in Jerusalem is so wrought with stress that is is tantamount to something as major as medical school. Parents unravel from the anxiety as registration day approaches. They consult each other and others about the leading preschools in the city and then lobby their connections to make sure their child can get in. Then, on that fateful day when online registration opens in February, these parents flood the internet and bring the fragile municipal servers crashing down, sending the communal tension that already pervaded the city to a crescendo of angst.

Actual prospective medical school students in Israel won’t even know if they made it into medical school until September and then their lives will be turned upside down in a matter of weeks as they will have to move across the country for university or take an exam for medical school in another country!

But 3-year-old children will have been registered since February or March when they find out which school graciously accepted them (and about 34 others their age). Yes, accepted. And that not based on academic achievement. Or potty skills.

Me: an official preschooler. Joshie: A preschooler in training. 

Here I am, the teacher of my own preschool,
raising up other babies in baby ways

Actually, the process started in December of 2014 for preschool in September 2015. That’s nearly a year in advance for kids who are most likely still in diapers, napping and looking forward to nothing more than a Mickey Mouse birthday cake.

Mommy and abba joined the fray of parental tumult and raced to their preferred preschool for its Open House in December, the day before we were leaving the country for Zemmy’s wedding. They filled out the five-page application, supplied the necessary forms and talked up Lucas as a genius who gets along with all variety of children and exhibits stellar leadership qualities (all of which is true). They handed over the paperwork to the principal with a kiss and a prayer and twiddled their thumbs on the 12-hour flight - and for the next two months.

Registration officially opened two months later, in February. And then a full month after that our parents found out - to their shock and horror - that Lucas was a baby without a preschool! Despite all of their advance efforts, the numbers worked against them and, in May, mommy and abba trudged wearily to the municipality to repeat the process in person this time. And so, with none of the stress and with all of the grace and surprises that God (and the Jerusalem Municipality) had to offer, Lucas was placed into a sublime neighborhood preschool, a veritable hidden gem close by with a reputable teacher.

But wait! Parents must register their children for kindergarten as well and then first grade, so this plays out three years in a row for each child. And then again at high school. And where you go now for pre-K could determine which high school you end up attending.

But the moral of this six-month stress-laden saga is this: While the parents sweated blood, jockeyed for prestigious preschools and then begged for whatever was left over, we babies were oblivious to it all.

As well we should be.

I for one have my own daycare to run as you can see from the pictures. There is a lot of baby shenanigans wisdom to be passed on to the next generation. And adult-run preschools are the least of my worries.

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Babies and Blazing Bonfires - a True Israeli Holiday

Lag B'Omer: Vanity of the bonfire and of the babies who gathered round it

In Israel, between Purim (which usually occurs in late February) and Hanukah (which usually lands in mid to late December) there are more holidays than there are days in the year. That leaves just January that is guaranteed to be all gloomy and holiday-less.

Now this may seem like a slight exaggeration, but it is not if you are a working parent who attempts to go to an office to get some work done in order to earn a salary in order to pay for school, food and housing among other things.

However, if you are a child who attends some sort of daycare, preschool, nursery, kindergarten or beyond, you have a different perspective. Throughout the school year in Israel you have the equivalent of vacation days that add up to summer vacation, which means you basically have summer vacation twice in one year! That is probably why most schools charge extra for schools to host summer camp through July - so that the parents can find a way, between sick kids or their own sick days or whatever, to actually "work" through the summer. And probably to placate those parents somewhat so that they don't sue the school system.

Raia and I nudged ourselves into Lucas' school party - and we had a blast!
(Scroll down for scrumptious video coverage)

There's nothing like catering and hired entertainment for a non-holiday party
...especially when it shows off my strong suits such as music and rhythm.

But the most insulting part for parents is when days that should not be holidays become such on the calendar of the Ministry of Education. And thus, from last evening through today, we celebrated Lag B'Omer because, really, after a month off for Passover and scattered days for other religious and national holidays, who needs to go to school anyway?

Lag B'Omer is not a biblical holiday, nor is it a "national" holiday in terms of the State of Israel. It is a day that marks the death of a rabbi who is revered by followers of the kabbalah. The celebration of this day, according to Wikipedia, "has spawned several well-known customs and practices ... including the lighting of bonfires."

Yes, bonfires. Perhaps not the most highly recommended activity for a country with an arid climate.

But Israelis are looking for any excuse to throw a party.

And so, with no school the following day, the country goes ablaze. Clearly teenagers, usually unchaperoned, gather together to stoke the biggest bonfire in the universe on any random corner of an open field because that is what teenagers live for - endangerment of themselves and the general public.

And why should babies not get into the act? So as not to leave them out, parent committees of every kindergarten and daycare also organize celebrations replete with food, entertainment and FIRE.

And it takes place at a random corner of an open field before dusk while the group of teenagers hovers and waits to take your spot when we babies are whisked off to our beds.

So it was that last night, Raia and I attended Lucas' Lag B'Omer festivities with his classmates from school.

Between a blazing bonfire and a street.

The sheer lure of all this peril and hazard rendered us giddy with excitement. We didn't even want to eat. Lucas busied himself with the older siblings of his classmates who were trying to tear down the ropes marking our bonfire territory while I made several breaks for the street and Raia just ran dizzying circles around the leaping flames. At one point we all gloriously threw whatever we wanted at the flames to spur them on.

In the end, we all were peeled away well past our bed time with blackened faces, grimy hands and dusty clothing. We all smelled gloriously of smoke and were starving because we had zero time to eat with all this frivolity to be done.

And yet, miraculously, we were all in one piece with only a minor scrape among us to show for it. Under the soot, we were still alive and eventually clean.

I made friends with the 12 year olds waiting to swarm our space
for their own mega-fire after we went home

Actually, these guys became my biggest fans and helped
me scale their future kindling

In the north yesterday "paramedics provided treatment to 92 people who suffered minor injuries over the course of the all-night celebration." But we - a group of about two dozen babies - were all okay. And THAT is cause for celebration!

That and being off from school today.

I'm confident that pretty soon the Ministry of Education will find a way to add Tu Bishvat, the Jewish New Year of the Tree, to its holiday roster. And then we will have a holiday nicely nestled in January as well.

So accordingly, as we say, "Shana haba b'Yeushalayim!" Next year in Jerusalem!

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