No more babies here

It's exactly five days to Yon's 4th birthday. My baby will be four in five days. I find it incomprehensible. In five days I will officially become an all-kids-mummy. No more babies. No more toddlers. Just kids. It comes as quite a shock, especially as I tend to think of Yon as my baby (mainly because he goes around the house proclaiming himself as baby Yon), and also because somehow, even though I do remember my children's birthdays logically in all the months prior, when the actual birthday month arrives my mind stops working and I always find myself in the same state of shock that it is in fact their birthday. It wasn't better this year, and although I had all the gifts in my Amazon basket, I still waited until the first of July to actually press "buy". And no, it wasn't all about waiting for payday.

Baby yon - then

And now

So why is that? It's not that I don't like their birthday, or that I wish them to stay young.
I am one of those people who don't like babies. I prefer the older version, you know the one that doesn't pee on you, can say what's wrong, and sleeps through the night.
I guess it has something to do with the fact that they were not easy babies, but honestly I am not sure there is such a thing as an easy baby. I mean in reality, not in the stories we tell other parents so they will feel bad about themselves.
I guess that it has something to do with the benefits of having older kids. It is true that the questions become tougher, the guilt is more pronounced and the feeling that every wrong turn will ruin you child's future is a constant companion. I think I told you about our saying that small children equals small problems, big children equal big problems (promise you it sounds better, and grammatically correct, in Hebrew), but while all that is true, now I can -
Well, my kids have been sleeping through the night since they were about two months old (see how bad I made you feel now? That's because I'm not telling you about the fact that Ron wouldn't sleep in the day until he was 3 years old), but lately they started sleeping in on weekends, and have been known to sleep until 9am.
After they wake up (on weekends obviously. On weekdays I feel like a drill Sargent) they watch a movie by themselves, and yes it means we can have a lie-in until about 10:30 am.
I can go out of the house with the tiniest of bags (though I usually don't. I was one of those prepared for a nuclear bomb bag people even before the kids).
I can go on the upper deck in a double decker, can go into any tube station, can squeeze them in on a busy train.
I can drink a cup of coffee in the afternoon while they are playing in their room. Without me. (Unfortunately they are in the "muuuuuuuumy he ....." stage. Lovely).
I can tell them that today is mummy day, and they do what I choose :).
In about three month Yon will go to Reception for a full day of studying. After he will finish his three weeks of gradual whatever. It means that for the first time in six years I will have a full 7 hours just for... ME.
They dress themselves, put on their own shoes (rarely on the wrong foot), coats and hat.

They can prepare their own breakfast (cereals. And it doesn't matter, as I do it anyway. Just like choosing their own clothes. It's the theoretical that counts here).
No more diapers, potties, bed-wetting. EVER.
Bath time is their time together alone.
I can take them shopping (if I bring two electronic devices they will be quiet for hours).
I can give them electronic devices and they will be quiet for hours.
We can do more stuff everyone enjoyes, like going to the cinema, a musical, a museum (ok, the Natural History or Science, but still).
They understand what I am telling them (but think they know everything better than me anyway), and answer direct questions (they also answer back, and eavesdrop things they shouldn't).
They eat (me out of house and home). I can take them to restaurants and not just McDonalds and they will still eat - try new foods, behave better, and let us eat in peace (electronic devices. Did I mention them already?).
They can tell you what they want for Christmas, or their birthday (though, usually the problem is that their gifts are becoming smaller in size and bigger in costs.)
I can wear what I want without worrying about getting it dirty with kids stuff (just, as usual, that I will spill something).

Big kids

So no, I don't miss the baby years. I don't miss any of those long days and nights where I had none of these things, when I couldn't dream of going out to a cafe with the kids, where I had to teach them to do everything. I really don't miss those days where I thought all hope is gone and it will never end.
I think after you have a baby or two you learn to appreciate much more all those little things in life. My days (and nights, and weekends) are still (and I guess for a long time more) dedicated and dictated by the whims of those two little tyrants, and I guess that is why every ounce of independence and freedom I gained back over the years is appreciated and marvelled at.
It is also the reason I do not want anymore children. I am at an age where most have one young child, or maybe are just pregnant, or maybe not even that. It is supposed to be the perfect time for me to start thinking about a third child. And yet, I don't.
I find I don't have the patience, the financial ability, the agility, and the ability to be awake at night, but most of all I don't have the enormous will and need that drove me to have those two. The willingness to sacrifice everything, the ability to bear the unending stream of doctors, tests, shots, pills, and unsuccessful months, that feeling in the pit of your stomach that drives you.
And you know, just to finish it off, we have the 50% chance that our next child will also have Ocular Albinism. Or full Albinism. Not really something we want to chance.
So why do I forget my kids' birthdays?

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Football and life (or - a lesson in frustration)

Football has been a part of our life for 8 years now. It is not showing any signs of going anywhere, and I had to resign myself to the fact that football is here to stay. It came into my life hand in hand with Ron, who chose it as his favourite thing even before he knew it existed. His first word was ball (Yon's first word was "no", but that's a different story), his favourite toys were footballs, and the moment he learned to walk was the moment he learned to kick a ball. He hasn't stopped ever since.

Ron at one year, with his beloved first red football

People said he will grow out of it, they said every one goes through fazes in life, they said children don't choose what they will be when they are two years old. We said he's not people and he's not everyone, he's Ron. And Ron doesn't change his mind.
We didn't really do much to encourage that love of football at the beginning, because in Israel football was less big and less mainstream than here, because Hidai preferred basketball, and because I preferred he be a no-sports child. Didn't do us much good, because Ron doesn't change his mind, and his mind was set. Maths and football, that's what he wanted, so that's what he got. As he was very young and football "training" in any afternoon club in Israel don't start before kids are six years old, all we did at that stage was let him play outside and wear football shirts.
Gibralterians, on the other hand, take their football very seriously, even kids football, and for the first time we needed to think about the road ahead - a team, a league, a commitment. I won't lie to you, for me it was a very tough decision. I didn't want Ron in any "professional" sport setting, didn't want him in a team, didn't want to push him. As I see it once your son enters a team you automatically become one of those parents. You know the type - the pushy, competitive, you'll-be-bigger-than-Messi parent. You can hide it, you can pretend it's not there, but deep inside you're it. I didn't and still don't think that amount of pressure is good for kids. I am against the trend of entering kids into talent shows, against tweeting about who will be the next star out of the Under 15s, etc. I am against training three times a week, against the amount of competitiveness it brings out in people (okay, me). I am against it all.
But I had no desire to stand in my child's way, so when Ron wanted to try out for a team, he did. And when he got into a team, we went to every training session, we stood on the lines in every match, and while doing that I learned some things about football. I guess you might be able to apply them to every sport, but I can't because I don't know sports. I am sticking with football.

I learned that there are worst things he could do.
A team sports forces you to learn how to work in a team, it forces you to be happy even if someone else scored the goal, it forces you to pass the ball to someone else to score, it forces you to understand what is the meaning of "a chain is as strong as its weakest link".
A sport forces you to lose and teaches you about dealing with losing, about going on the pitch to face a stronger team, about fighting to the end, about continuing even though you are down 1:0, it teaches you about disappointments, and about those days where you did everything right and still lost.
Football teaches you about discipline, about commitment, about doing your best every time you step on the pitch.
Professional athletes, including football players, work hard to get there. They train every day, do every move a thousand time, they put in each and every one of those 10,000 hours, they learn to deal with all the pressure of having so many people looking at you, criticising you, admiring you.
I could think of worst things he could want to be.
When we moved to London we searched for a team for Ron, but apparently Londoners aren't as serious about Under 9s as Gibralterians, and we couldn't find him a team we liked. We decided to stop looking and not commit him to anything, and enrolled him in an Arsenal after-school club, which we were very unhappy with, because they did not work on any of these things with the kids, and I am not in the market for babysitters.
Ron ended up with being invited to train with the school team (officially open to years 4-6), and with the Arsenal Double Club at school (also open only for years 4-6). So he gets his twice a week football fix. But for this year, he hasn't been in a league. Or a team.
Last week I got him invited to a Saturday training in Vale Farm Sports Center, as part of the Love Cravendale Loyalty Scheme. I don't really get why this lesson will be in a loyalty scheme, but there you have it. For us it meant an hour on the tube, and though we weren't sure will make it, we've made it on time (9 am on a Saturday. What I won't do for this blog). I have to admit, the pitch is gorgeous, and the coach (a very likeable Italian guy who supports Spain. Go figure) was attentive and nice, and all the kids seemed to love him. Ron had a good time, like he always has when on a football pitch, and Yon played with an imaginary animal or two. Like he always does when he is on a football pitch.
But that's not the point. The point is that while standing there, watching the kids running around in a straight line again and again, watching Ron become frustrated because what they are doing isn't what he is good at, it once again made us examine football in a different light.

Standing there in the wind watching kids doing drills it hits you - this is our test as parents. Ron is getting older and we are at a crossroad. We have to decide which parents we want to be. Are we going to be the parents who let their children quit just because they don't want to work hard, or because they don't succeed in something? Are we going to be the parents who make their child practice for hours on end? Are we the parents that will drive and force their children to more and more? How can we find a middle ground? Why would we even try?
Because it's not about the football. It's about life. It's the question of what you believe in, and so that was the moment in which I broke one of my own pre-parenting fantasies, of never being that parent, and understood that my child needs me to be that parent. He needs to understand that even though he loves football there are bits and pieces he won't like and he still has to do them; he needs to understand that you don't quit because you didn't succeed or didn't want to work hard. You work hard and succeed and then you decide if you want to quit.
He needs to learn all that football has to teach him - hard work, accepting failure, falling down and standing back up, repeating again and again, dedication, not giving up.
He needs to learn self-control and dealing with frustration. Because he usually doesn't have to deal with any of those. You see, Ron is very good at everything. It's not bragging, it's a fact. He doesn't give up, he just becomes the best, very quickly. but on those rare occasions he faces not being able to be the best after a few tries, he needs to learn how to not get too frustrated that he can't keep going.
Are we bad parents? Are we making a mistake? Is it too much to ask of a child of 8?
Are we giving in to our need for him to be excellent in everything?
Are we putting too much pressure on him?
Or if we won't, will he wake up some twenty years from now saying we weren't strong enough for him?
I don't know the answer. Life is funny like that. The answer will come one day, but not today. Today is all about what we can teach him. Today is ours to lead the way for him.
So when he finished the training session, we talked to him about it and told him that from now on he has to train for 20 minutes a day at home, regardless of what he does outside the house.
In response he said he is fine with it, ignored us for four hours, and built himself a detailed training program composed of ten drills, two minutes each.

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A Perfect parent? don't make me laugh

"Did you know that the first Matrix was designed to be a perfect human world? Where none suffered, where everyone would be happy. It was a disaster. No one would accept the program. Entire crops were lost. Some believed we lacked the programming language to describe your perfect world. But I believe that, as a species, human beings define their reality through suffering and misery. The perfect world was a dream that your primitive cerebrum kept trying to wake up from."
Imperfect parenting. the subject made me think of this quote from The Matrix, mainly because I am a geek at heart so my references are always so... Geeky. 
But also, because Imperfect implies the existence of Perfect. When you stop and think about it, talking about Imperfect Parenting is actually like saying "yes, there is Perfect Parenting out there, and I am not it". 
Is there really a set of criteria, of rules, that defines what and who is a perfect mother? I googled it, but couldn't find one. I did find so many articles, photos and sayings that tried to convince me that it's okay to not be Perfect. 
Parenting is the only area in life in which we try, constantly, to be perfect. We accept that there is no "perfect" for anything else in our life, there is, after all no such thing as the perfect wife, or the perfect worker, or the perfect daughter, or the perfect boss, or the perfect friend, or the perfect customer, is your husband perfect? are your children perfect? are your parents perfect? You get my drift. Because non of us is perfect, because there is no Perfect. There is no universal set of criteria that makes for a Perfect Human Being.
What makes parenting different than all the other areas of life, is it the way parenting is portrayed in the media? or maybe the fact that people feel they "give up so much" to have kids so they have to make it perfect? or maybe it the silent competition all parents have - who is better, whose child is smarter, who has it tougher, who sacrificed more, you name it - it's in the competition? maybe it's because of the feeling that after we have kids our entire self-definition becomes dependant on them, we are "only" parents? or maybe it the fear, the fear that everything we do could be the wrong thing, and could hamper our child's future?
I think all of it tantamount to pressure, to the enormous parenting-pressure people are under even before they become parents. I think it's especially true today because the average age for having the first child is around 30, and the decision when to start a family is a more conscious one, it is more than just "oh, let's have a baby because we feel like it". There are advantages to being more cautious, more organised, more conscious about the prices you pay and the changes in your lives that having a child brings with it. There are also disadvantages, and one of them is a higher dose of what I fondly call The Fantasy of the Perfect. You know, that image you get in your minds-eye, that mystified look, the How It Should Be picture you painted for yourself. It sets the bar too high. There is no way but to fail and fall.
It makes parenting, and life, harder than it should be.
That is why, for my post about imperfect parenting I chose to tell you about all the ways in which I am the perfect poster girl for an imperfect parent.
I know some of the people reading this will leave this post with a "what a bad mother" chuckle, or a "poor kids" look, and it's perfectly fine by me. You know why? Because I am out of the parents-competition, because I will probably say the same about you, and because as I am weird this way and it will probably only make me satisfied to hear. let's start then, shall we?

The poor kids

If you want to start from the really early stages - my two boys weren't breastfed, they slept in their own bed in their own room from the beginning, they ate store bought baby-food and not homemade, they watched TV from when they were tiny.
Fast forward to today, I don't do "positive parenting", I don't do "democratic parenting" and I don't do "I am your best friend parenting".
I don't like sports. Especially football. I do make an effort, otherwise I have almost nothing in common with Ron, but really-honestly-privately I honest to God hate sports.
I don't like playing sports. All that running around? Not gonna happen. Either play with daddy or play on the iPhone.
I don't like parks, I don't like Zoos, I absolutely hate picnics, BBQs, petting-zoos, ant-farms, etc. Basically everything to do with nature is a big (BIG) no-no.
I don't do bedtimes. If Hidai isn't here the kids are usually on a "no need for a shower kids, just brush your teeth and go to bed. Let's make it an early bedtime" routine. If I have to, they will get a quick wash, and not the elaborate splash-in-the-tub they get with daddy.
I don't read them stories before bed. I don't read them stories every day. I don't read with Ron at all anymore. Yon gets stories if he asks for them. And if I can't get Ron to read them to him.
I don't bake / cook with them. I take my baking very seriously, but not as serious as Ron who won't let me put 203 grams of sugar if it says 200 grams in the recipe. Even if I swear to him that it's okay. Even if I beg.
I don't do arts & crafts. Ron thinks creative activities is punishment, and Yon just wants to take everything and use it in some weird imaginary and elaborate game, that has something to do with animals.
I have a competitive streak.
I shout. and yell. and scream. and slam doors.
My house is not always clean (though it is always tidy).
I use swear-words (sometimes, when I don't pay attention)
I let my children eat junk food. 
I don't play with them every afternoon.
I let them play on the WII, iPad and iPhone so I could get some more time to write.
I hide the chocolate and eat it after they are in bed.
I never volunteer for anything in school.
I'm sure I could find some more examples if these ones aren't enough, and now whenever you think you aren't perfect you could always revisit my list and feel good that about yourself, because hey! there is someone less perfect!
Perfect is not only an illusion, it's also pretty damn boring. Who even wants perfect?

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An Invisible child, a Special child

It took me awhile to even start writing this post, because when it comes to Yon, things are always so much more complicated. Being a parent to a child like Yon brings with it so many difficulties that you can't imagine beforehand. It starts with the most banal question of all, what to call his condition? Is he a disabled child? a special-needs child? a Special child?
The outreach advisor that met us on Thursday called him an Invisible child.
Invisible.
She meant to say that because his disability isn't showing in anyway apart form wearing glasses and a hat, that people forget about it and his special needs aren't met.
And just like that, she made my beautiful child into disabled, with special needs and invisible.
We call him Special.

Being the parent of a Special child you have to be constantly prepared for the little twinges in your heart that comes unexpectedly and randomly when you are walking on the street and see something interesting and he doesn't see it, or when there is a discussion about travelling with kids and you suddenly realise you can't give any tips about playing games that involves looking outside, or when you have to give him the iPad because somebody made the letters too small for him when using that app on the iPhone.
Being the parent of a Special child you have to be constantly prepared for the big twinges in your heart that comes quite expectedly when you are facing reality, like the fact that Yon is moving from Nursery to Reception in three months time. That's why we had the conversation with the outreach advisor who is helping us educate the school about Yon's... What should I put here? Problem? Condition? Disability? I can't use any of them. About Yon. None of the teachers in our school has ever educated a child with Ocular Albinism, and they, like most, were unaware of its existence until now. Let's face it, most people haven't seen a person with full Albinism in real life, let alone someone with Ocular Albinism (strange as it sounds to me now, before Yon was diagnosed we were part of that large faceless mass). In our borough, at the moment, there are only 6 children with full/Ocular Albinism.
Yon is one of them.
Being a parent of a Special child, you learn to behave differently, to look at everything differently. You learn to say everything aloud and not count on a look to be sufficient, because you can never be sure he sees the look, or knows what it means; you learn to not "disappear", as in, walk a little further beside him; you learn to leave the house a few minutes earlier so that the going down the stairs will get the time it needs; you don't move anything in the house; you look at road signs and think "why the hell are they up there?" because Yon can't see them; you activate all the accessibility features on each device you own.

Being a parent of a Special child you learn to be weary of change. Children with vision problems don't like change, they don't like new places, new routines, new food, new people. We need to move Yon to Reception. It is located one door to the right. For all he cares it's a million miles away. Reception means a new room, with new teachers, new children, new routines, a new place to put his bag, a new playground, new hours. It will be his first time eating lunch at school, it will mean sitting in class, it will mean learning letters, phonics, maths.
It means we sat down with our advisor and the school SENCO (look at me using the lingo - Special Educational Needs Coordinator) to discuss the fact that if there are stairs it's a problem, if there are posters in class that are hang high it's a problem, that if the size of the letters is smaller than 14 or 16 it's a problem, that if there are PE lessons with balls and climbing its a problem, that if there is a lot of noise in the lunch hall it's a problem, that if there is a lot of light in the classroom it's a problem...
It doesn't end here, what about reading from the white-board? What about finding his friends in the playground? What about tests / assessments / etc.?
And then there are the real worries, could he be able to read? Could he be able to write? Will he need a tutor? an iPad to connect to the smart-board?
That is the moment we moved into the realm of Mainstreaming.

Being a parent of a Special child you find yourself constantly checking, examining and following. You never just gaze fondly at your child.
Being a parent of a Special child you get used to what no one should ever get used to - the endless stream of doctors, specialists, tests, advisors, psychologists; the endless stream of questions, of examinations, of people looking at your child and trying to assign the wrong explanations to things that are so tough to understand; the endless need to explain, educate and enlighten people just to go through it all again the next day.
Being a parent of a Special child you learn how little doctors really know about the inner working of the body, how much you have to learn by yourself in order to do the best for your child, how precious it is to find good people along the way.
Being a parent of a Special child you learn to take it one day at a time.
Last thursday we had a Yon day. Yon days are always rough. Yon days usually start the day before, with the realisation that I can no longer pretend it's "someday" and have to deal with it being "this day". Yon days are anti-diet days, days that stretch me to the limits, days that leave me empty inside. Yon days don't always take a day. This one took almost a week.
Yon days are here all too often.

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My life in books

I planned so many different things for this post. I was going to write about imperfect parenting (to get myself in a Blogging Carnival for the first time ever), I was going to write about our latest Yon meeting at nursery (where we learned about him being a part of what is called children with "invisible disabilities", how hard it is to get the help you need from the school system, and how annoying it is when people patronise you and your parenting skills. Yes, fun times), I was going to write about sharenting and how unfair it is that we are, once again, not a part of the trend. it's the FoMo thing all over again. I mean, obviously we are parents and we share, so strictly speaking we are sharenting, and obviously we have friends who are parents and they put the odd baby / child photo on Facebook, but I want the real thing - the baby poo photos, the placenta talk, the vomit descriptions. I want to feel a part of the real phenomena. It is not my fault that all our friends have boundaries.
But before I could sit down quietly (not ashamed to say - hide in the bedroom in the excuse that it's boys time and mummy is a girl) and decide which of these very important and post-deserving subjects to write about, Hidai & I had to embark on the very glamorous job of cleaning the house, who was another casualty of my latest illness, and hasn't been cleaned for (let's say) a couple of weeks. Don't worry, I am not going to write about cleaning the house, glamorous as it is.

Cleaning

 It just that while I was cleaning I had to go into the kids room and really look around. It happens every six months or so, that I stop and look around and not just go through the motions, and every time I come to the same conclusion - it's time to Spring Clean the hell out of the room. I don't know why I'm surprised, after all it's the end of June, and the last time we did it was December, to make room for all the Christmas presents.
It just that I felt like they are playing with everything, and that the room isn't in that bad of a shape, and that there is nothing really to do there right now. Maybe around September. I will take a moment to note that the kids share a room, at their request, and that they love it. I, on the other hand, still feel the need to explain and excuse myself. It wasn't us. We were searching for a three bedrooms flat, like we had in Gib, but they insisted on sharing.
I don't really mind it anymore (except for the need to explain, and the incessant giggling after bedtime), but it means they now have one medium sized room filled with LOTS of things. LOTS of things. The fact that they have parents who love buying them things, and especially books, combined with the age gap (4 years) which means that they can't really share the games, books and other bits, the fact that they love different things, and the very sad realisation that they are teeny tiny hoarders who can't throw away anything, all means one thing - LOTS of things. In an itty bitty living space.

Parts of the room

This time I looked around the room and you know what I saw? I saw books. I just counted, and they have 200 books. You probably think I'm exaggerating, but I am not. You have no idea how many books they have. It is totally my fault. I take full responsibility. I love books. Always have.
I have by now wasted half an hour of trying to describe how I feel about books with little to no success.   Books are at the centre of my life. Always have been. They were beside me wherever I went, they were my rock, my escape, my guides, my solace. Books were how I survived the teenage years, how I learned English and Italian, they are who I turn to when I have a parenting question. I still, to this day, keep books I read for the first time when I was about 10 years old. I can still recognise every book I've ever read by reading the first line, I can still tell you which milestone was accompanied with which book, I still can't stop reading when I start a book, I still prefer the book to the movie, and though I don't get to read as much as I would have liked these days (it's about time and becoming more selective), whenever I feel the pressures of life becoming too much, I read.
For me, a life without books isn't worth living.
And when I had the kids I just knew that they would love reading as much as me. How could they not? So I bought every book I found, and the whole thing kind of took a life of its own... Whenever I went in to a book store and there was a sale? I bought books. Whenever there was a holiday or a birthday? Books. Whenever I wanted to buy a book for myself? I bought one for Ron also.

Ron's library when he was 2 years old

When we moved out of Israel we (obviously) took all of our books with us, but we started to buy children books in English so the kids will get used to the language, to the books, to the culture and the references, but to this day the majority of books they have is in Hebrew. Before we moved here we cleared out all the baby things and donated all the toys and books that weren't being used anymore, but even now, there are still so many books...

This is not all we took out of their rooms that time...

Today I was looking at the books and it suddenly hit me, most of them will never be read by the kids. I have so many books there that I read through the years, and my kids won't read them at all, or will read them in a different language. You would think that by now I should have gotten used to it, to those little signs that the Hebrew is slowly disappearing from our life, after all - they, and we, do everything in English, except talk to each other at home, and even that is slowly changing. The kids feel more comfortable in English, and I understand it, support it, and even encourage it. After all, they live here, they have no need to read a translated copy of the Hobbit when Ron is perfectly capable of reading the real thing, they have no need to read children books relating to life in Israel.
But when I looked over all my books, books that I can tell you how old I was when I read them, books that I can tell you when and where and why I bought for Ron, my heart ached.
It ached because there are so many gaps between my boys and me. There is the age gap; there is the gender gap (boys, let's be honest here, will never want to read Anne of Green Gables, and I will never read Football Academy); there is the language gap (the boys speak English as a first language. I don't); there is the reading vs. hearing gap (Yon will probably prefer (or need) Audio books and not written books, which is not the same); there is the were-we-are-growing-up-gap; there is the culture gap; I looked at those Harry Potter books in Hebrew and they were mocking me, they were, at that moment, the representation of every single one of those gaps, and of those naive dreams I carried with me as a young mum, about peacefully reading to my child, about sharing the love for the same books, about passing on the bookworm torch to the next generation. Dreams I didn't even think I still had.
Books are my one big love in life (okay except maybe for the boys and Hidai. Depends on the day you ask) and they have now become one more thing that I won't be able to share with them;

Reading together

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Smart kids and lost innocence

My aim was to write a funny post this time. I know you don't believe me, but I was going to write a funny post. I was even going to open with a joke. I had it all planned out, I really did. Right until the moment were Ron came home from school in distress.
You have to understand, Ron doesn't have bad days at school. Ron doesn't do distress. It is so rare for him, that it can only mean one thing - a difficult question for me to answer.
He doesn't have small questions this child of mine. When he gets distressed it's because of things that I can't explain away easily. How can you explain away heartbreak? Or why Grandparents need to go back home? Or why there is teasing in the world? Or wars? And let's not forget that special moment where I had to explain about different religions, God, and synagogues. Yes, the day Ron came back from school with the notion we don't believe in God because we are Jewish will stay with me.
It's because he usually reaches his own conclusions, based on all the things he hears, sees, and imagines.
Sometimes, though, they're things he can't figure out for himself, and that is when I get the really tough ones. Yesterday it was about school. But as usual it was about more than that, it was about life, and it touched a chord with me that has been there for quite some time.
I am sitting here debating how to write what is in my head without sounding like I am exaggerating  or bragging, or too pushy. Ron's intelligence is, let's say - above average. He was always like that, and we have been worried about him since we figured out that he is like that. He is our eldest so it took us a while to figure that out. I know how it sounds, it's fine, I don't blame you. After all, we live in a society full of parents pushing their kids over their limits to achieve things that they (the parents) wanted, or to make everyone else feel inferior. We live in a society were kids are for show, and most of all they are a reflection of us as parents - if my child is smart it means I am a great parent. If my child is super-smart...
So you see shows like Child Genius on Channel 4, and you have shows like BGT, and everywhere you look you have little stressed out kids with pushy parents.
I do get them, the pushy parents. You really can't help it but feel that immense pride when your child does something that no other can. It is indescribable that pride, it's like nothing else, like no other pride you've ever felt before. Yes, I get them.
I also know that there is a very fine line between encouraging and pushing. That line is so very thin and frail, and you have to check yourself almost daily to make sure you don't cross it. It is so easy to cross it because these kids are pleasers and because you never know where you will reach the mental limit. It is so easy to push just a little too hard.
That is why we have a checks & balances system in place, and unless it's both of us agreeing that we need to push, we don't.
Having a smart child has its challenges, you need to encourage without pushing, you need to be able to answer all the questions, you need to still seem smarter than him, you need to make sure that he is not bored at school, that he has friends, that his emotional development is catching up with his abilities, that he has challenges, and that he gets plenty of positive feedback at school.
You need to give your child the ability to be his age and ten years older at the same time and give love, attention and encouragement to each of those sides.
We found a system that works for us, and at home he gets all the "extras" when school is off - he can read what he wants, do whatever level of maths he wants, etc. He gets a taste of the "more to come". During school terms he doesn't do extra work. Might read when he is bored but that's it. He has football as a stress-relief, his big love in life, and a challenge. Kids like Ron, I think, needs a place that forces them to work hard and not give up, because everything else in life comes so easy to them. Otherwise they will hit that wall someday without being prepared for it at all. Football, where you have to repeat every move thousands of times to make it perfect and where you have to learn how to lose and keep going, gives him just that challenge.
We do expect him to excel. You don't have to do all those extras - football, reading, maths. But if you do something you do it to the best of your ability.
And right here lies that fine line I told you about before. I don't think we are over-doing it. He doesn't read Shakespeare, just Lord of the Rings; he doesn't do secondary school maths, even though he could. But I do expect him to get all his answers right, and I do test him on what he read so I know he understands.
He does get a lot of extras at school (as much as they can), and he loves his school, but still I found myself worried about secondary schools, about maybe it's better to have him take a proper IQ test and have that letter that will make people stop looking at us funny. I want him to have every opportunity there is out there. Do I sound pushy? I hope not.
Anyway, I am rambling. Yesterday he came home distressed because he felt forgotten at school. He felt his teacher doesn't think he is smart anymore, that he doesn't think he is doing his best.
And it was up to me to explain to him that, yes, life isn't fair. I hate it when I can see a tiny bubble of innocence bursting when I talk to him. I make it a point to explain the truth to him, but why does the truth has to be so damn hard to explain?
I hated it when I had to explain to him that the educational system is aiming for the middle. For the normal, and therefore sometimes the kids that are not in that middle (in both directions) gets forgotten, and that it doesn't say anything about him, or about how his teacher sees him, just about the system. I don't like mediocracy, I don't like "systems" of any sort, and I hate it when I have to defend one. I found it even harder to explain to him why he can't and shouldn't showoff his smarts, why he should be okay with getting the same oral quiz as everyone else even though it's easy for him, but that way he doesn't stand out, and everyone else feels smarter. I explained about self-worth, and knowing who you are, I explained about the greater good. And I hated every word that came out of my mouth. I was angry. I was angry at the teacher, the school, the system, the society, I was angry at them all for making me hurt my little boy with an explanation about how being good doesn't mean you will get the recognition you are promised, about how being extraordinary sometimes means you are taken for granted. About how negative behaviour gets you more attention than good one.
Because it's Ron I can explain it, and he understands it. But because he is still 8 years old, he is still hurting.

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How I ruined Father's Day

We usually don't "do" Father's day, because up until now I only had one view of it, and to put it as plainly and crudely as I can, up until this year, I always saw Father's day as a made up day that is solely intended to lessen the importance of mothers. Father's day is how men are trying to steal our one day a year that recognizes the fact that motherhood is a tough job, and that women are the only ones who do it properly.
Okay, I was always aware that there are single dads raising their kids alone somewhere in the world, and I salute them. Truly I do. But they are the exception and I am talking about the rule. Motherhood is damn hard, and we deserve our day. What we don't deserve is all this men coming in and trying to belittle it. Because that is what Father's day does. It belittle Mother's day.
Why? because mothers are the ones who do all the heavy-lifting. They are the ones that deal with all the mundane, less-fun aspects of parenting; they are the ones who makes sure the house, the kids, the husband, they all run smoothly, while fathers gets a thank you for, well, just showing up.
Also, Hidai doesn't care about it so passionately so he lets it be.
What changed this year? Why did I decide this year to abandon my views and organize a Father's day for Hidai?
It was a combination of a few things actually, with the whole discussion about the "men deserts" & the million kids with no dads in the UK and some reminders about what bad fathers can cause, I sat Hidai down and asked him about his take on the whole fatherhood subject, as someone who is both a father, and a son, and as someone who wanted to do things differently than was done before.
Hidai said, fatherhood is mainly about choices. Although it is true that mothers can also choose not to be there, with fathers it is more socially acceptable to be at work until after bedtime, to be busy over the weekends, to be less involved in your child's life, to not know what's going on in school, to not know who your child's friends are, and also to not be there at all. To be honest, he was talking more about life in Israel than in Gib and the UK, mainly because that is where we grew up, and because that is where we became parents. And also because we found it to be more prominent there than in Gib or London.
For men, he said, it's more complicated today than in the past. We expect more from them - to be good husbands, fathers & workers - but most men grew up in houses where these expectation did not exist. They are in uncharted territory.
It dawned on me. It dawned on me that I am part of the problem. That this view is what allows fathers to be content with just showing up. It is what allows men to not have to work harder at home, or with their kids, or with their wives.
I have two boys, who someday (hopefully) will become fathers and make me a grandma, and I want for my boys what every parent wants for his kids - better. To have a better life, to have better option, to be better people. And it's up to me, up to us, to make sure they will get there. It's hard work, making sure they will get to that "better", and it's up to Hidai & me. We are the role models here. I look at them, and as young as they are now, I know the years fly by, I know that teenagers (and twenty-something boys) don't listen to their parents, and I also know how important it is to plant the seeds now.
How could I demand responsibility and accountability from them later, when they will be fathers themselves, if I don't raise them that fathers are important? That fatherhood is about more than just showing up? If I am not setting the right example?
So I figured that maybe we should make more of an effort with Father's day to remind us to stop once in a while and look at the choices we make, the role models we set for our kids.
For me, it was also a chance to say thank you to Hidai, who has managed to do just that, and ignore everything else in his personal history and the society he lived in to become the best dad I know from the moment Ron was born. He won't like it if I gushed about him here, and anyway it's his story and not mine to tell, but he does deserve a thank you.
BUT
As we Jewish people like to say - man plans and God laughs. As luck would have it, after a few very good and illness-free months, I was sick from Wednesday onwards, and all my plans went right down the drain. That is why, in the end, even though after being kind of a single-dad for almost a week, and taking care of an annoying me to boot (I get really grumpy and unhelpful when I am sick. REALLY unhelpful. I don't do the I'm gonna die thing, just the it's the end of the world, my life sucks, nobody loves me anymore routine) he deserved a Father's day more than ever, what he got was a card from each of us (Yon's nursery made them cards for Father's day. I didn't get nursery cards for Mother's day. Not fair.), a brownie (each got one), and one gift.

Father's Day celebration

He didn't get the cake I wanted to bake him, he didn't get a fancy lunch (though he did get pizza. But that was because, like I said, he was in charge of everything and so 3 nights in a row we had Pizza Night), and he didn't get the gift he wanted (because I needed to get out of the house for that).

Pizza for the ill

He did take the kids on a playdate in the afternoon and had to listen to me cry all evening about how the kids hate me and my life is worthless.

Playdate kids

Best Father's Day Ever!

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