So, in order to throw a little more excitement into the equation–because Heaven Forfend we should only deal with one crisis at a time–I stopped sleeping.
At first, it wasn’t anything I could control. The kids were waking up. Like constantly: Little Homie for boob and a mini-monologue about his preference for the left breast over the right, and M. for a litany of desires including but not limited to:
“Ima!!!” (again with the Ima? Can’t you just call me Mama!) “Ani rotsah lirot et Cinderella! I want to see Cinderella!” (At 1:46, and 3:32, and 4:51 in the morning. Now if she had asked to see Arrested Development or Weeds, I might be down.)
For the first two weeks, I was exhausted. Like, body slammed against the wall, shooting extra-shot latte straight into my veins to keep my eyes open exhausted. While normally, I’d have taken a little nappy nap after ditching the kids at gan and woken up just fine thank you, Little Homie and M. were taking turns playing catch with a few nasty viruses, so they were home.
For 10 days.
(B. works during the day, and as a freelance writer, I have the flexibility (oh joy!) to be home with the kids when they’re sick. Which is exactly what happens. A lot. )
Mama nappy-nap fail.
And then, as soon as their fevers broke M. started getting stomach aches. So she stayed home some more, lying on the couch, reading books, watching Sound of Music, (and making a miraculous recovery every afternoon when B. would take her to the kibbutz swimming pool). Read the rest of this entry →