Sick Babies, Oh My!

Image by [ r ♥ c e y t ♥ y ] {I br♥ke for bokeh} via Flickr

Maya is sick. When I watch her and see dark circles under her eyes, like purple bruises, my hearts skips a beat. She runs a bit of a fever and her eyes, huge and grey - blue are glassy because of it. She isn't her usual merry self, and this change in her mood tells me immediately that she isn't well. Thank God, I don't have to deal with it by myself. My husband is here, and so is (for now at least) my sister. This doesn't make me or Maya feel better, but it helps with the morale. I also have a good paeditrician, the emergency services near our building, telephones (a land line and countless mobile ones), pharmacies, a good thermometer and so on.
Almost twenty years ago, when my boy, Darie, was sick, I had to to everything by myself, because I was a single mother, living in a city where I didn't have any close relatives (only my sister, a student at that time). We didn't have a telephone, land line or otherwise, so if I wanted to call the doctor, I had to run at the central bus station that was nearby and to pray to God that the pay phones were working, that I had enough change and that I didn't run out from the house with my dress backwards (it happened once, when I had to take him to the doctor , and I noticed that only after we returned home). It wasn't easy to be a single parent back in Romania. Once, Darie had chicken pox (he was 9 years old) and he had to stay at home and taken good care of, but at work they didn't let me have a few days off ( I worked as a journalist) so I used to run back home every couple of hours or so, to check on him. I was lucky that being a journalist I had to do a lot of field work, so I used that as an excuse to stay for a while with my sick baby. But I was young and strong back then, very determined to make myself a career, so I did everything and never complained (maybe I didn't have time to feel or say anything, I was always running back then). I used to sit by myself in my tiny kitchen and smoke ( I was a smoker until 10 years ago) and cry because I was alone and afraid and I had nobody to ask for advice...
So, yes, when my baby girl is sick I cuddle her and check her temperature every half an hour, and I worry and I take her to the doctor but at least I have somebody near me to share my worries with him and to seek confort when I feel I'm running out of strenght.
I am going now to lay down for a while near my sleeping baby-girl and husband...
Night - night whoever you are...
May God help us all, parents and children...

My Sister, the Vampire

Image by . SantiMB . via Flickr

While I am waiting impatiently for my sister to arrive (only five hours to go) I am flooded with childhood memories, memories about my life as a Big Sister.
Until I was seven years old, my life was pretty simple and happy, I was an only child, sorrounded by my family, even if it comprised only by women: my mother, my grandmother and my aunt. They loved me, and I felt secure and safe.
Then, my mother remaried and my sister and two brothers came one after the other, in three years, my mother had three kids. There was an age gap of seven, eight and nine years between me and them, the aliens, the ones that came to take from me all that I held dear. I remember that after my sister was born I was so frustrated that nobody paid attention to me anymore that I tried to play the role of baby myself, taking my sister's bottle and drinking from it...I also remember that she used to suck with such a great hunger from my mother breasts that she almost always drew her blood. I used to cry and confort my mother and say to myself constantly: "I hate her. I hate the vampire".
I had a love/hate relationship with my step-brothers and sister. After they grew a bit I was appointed their unpaid baby sitter, and so went my puberty and adolescence, stuck with them. If I wanted to go out with friends I had to lie because I rarely was allowed to go out, I always had some chores to do. I had to play with them, feed them, take care of them. I hated them so much! On the other hand, I loved them because they were my baby sister and baby brothers and they were sweet kids, even though very-very naughty - the boys, especially the youngest. He was the devil disguised in an angel. And I mean it. I'll tell you about him sometime later. I'll just add now that if something bad happend in the house, it was always him behind the deed. Anyhow, my sister was (as remained) a sweet child, with an optimistic nature, happy and with a huge grin on her face almost all the time. I really loved her even though I was jealous of her, because she was (and still is) my mother's favourite. It hurt a lot when I was a teenager, but I got used to it, I guess and then I just went on with my life and forgot about it. I think that was the reason why I married so young for the first time - I was 19. Back then, in the communist Romania, it was the only way a girl would leave the family home, through marriage. Anything else was classified as imoral and almost imposible to achieve. And I couldn't wait to break free from my family's grip on my freedom...
Over the years we kept in touch, me and my sister...she's got her own life now, a difficult one, as a single parent, but she's a fighter, my vampire baby sister and she'll be all right and I love her so much...

Passing By Love

Image by millzero.com via Flickr

I wrote the following poem some 11 years ago, when I was falling in love with my husband and the country that would become my home. Back then, I thought that , unlucky as i was in finding true love, everything would end in tears. But here we are now, it is our 10th wedding anniversary and we have a beautiful family, and I hope for many more years to come!
Happy anniversary, my dear husband!


passing by love

everything in my life
is temporary
nothing lasts more than a moment.

even you,
my temporary love
will come to an end
like a chapter from the torah.

the prickly cacti
on the road side
the cry of the seagull
the sunset.
one haredi whispering his prayer
at the wailing wall
the candles lit on hanuka
the flat bread for passover
the sweet, rippen dates
bitter herbs
a leaf drying
between the pages of a bible
the soldier sleeping with his head on my shoulder.

even you,
my temporary love
won't last for ever

only this land is eternal.

massada fortress lives its battles
the maccabees' graves
golgotha mountain
the broken stone
and the blood trickling down to the earth's heart
mary's tears
steps on via dolorosa
the olive trees
on the golan heighs
the quiet water of the jordan river
the zohar scribbled on the synagogue's wall
adam's bones
mary magdalene's smile

only you,
my israeli love
are temporary
everything else
here
is
forever.

Adventures in Lala...sorry, MayaLand

Image via Wikipedia

I thought about an appropiate title to my post, and I hesitated between the current title and something along the lines of "Motherhod, Poems and Other Household Chores..." or "Motherhood, Writing and Cooking Doesn't Go Together"...But in the end it was Maya that won, well, mainly because she always wins over whatever other things I have to do.
I agree that I gave up my "brilliant" teaching carrer because I wanted to stay at home with my baby, at least for the first three years of her life. I didn't know it will be so difficult and time consuming and energy-sucking...well, even if I knew that, I would've done the same. When Darie, my boy, was Maya's age, I was caught between being a single mother and a student and afterwards a journalist, very young and thirsty for a career, for money, for a better future. I'm cured now, but that's another story.
Anyway, some days I just have enough of being a housewife and mum and I try to do other things as well. As I regained my inner voice I started to write and I work on other projects as well...I mean I TRY to write and TRY to do other projects, you know what I mean. During the day I can hardly concentrate on anything else, whenever I try, it is a recipe for disaster anyway (I burned a few pans when I tried to cook and write at the same time).
For example, my day today looked like this:
Maya woke up at 7 o'clock and asked for her milk and her daddy. Fortunately, daddy was still at home, so they cuddled on the sofa and watched some television until I managed to open my eyes and ask for a cofee. Then, daddy went to work and we started our morning routine: toilet, bathroom, shower, teeth, breakfast, more cofee for me. I was able to check quickly my mail, blog and other stuff, then we played for a while. Maya is into puzzles now, so we have to do a few in the morning, for a better start of the day. Then, we went out to do some shopping (when we don't shop we go to the park), returned home, I started on cleaning the house a bit, I tried my eliptical machine for 15 minutes (I try to return to my prehistorical shape, and for now I am able to do 15 min on the damn machine), during this time, as I listen to very loud music to "motivate " me and to keep the rhythm, Maya danced like crazy. Then, shower, luch, some TV, some drawing, played with the cars, played a spelling game. Tried to do some work (I have begun translating my poems) but Maya cried "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..." and tore away the pages I was working on. Explanations, some tears (from both sides). Started on dinner, but forgot about it, remembered suddenly when some strange smell emanated from the kitchen and Maya screamed "Stinky!". Re-started dinner, meanwhile gave Maya her bath, finished dinner, fed Maya and myself while watching "Little Einsteins". Finally, her daddy came home at 19.oo, so I gave her milk, she brushed her teeth with daddy and...BLISS...daddy put her to sleep. Wait...I had to iron some shirts for Tibi, took out the dog, fixed my husband dinner, cleaned the kitchen...And here I am, dead tired, I mean dead-dead tired , it is 9 o' clock in the evening and I have a few hours only for myself... And what am I doing? Blogging? No way! My books wait for me, calling my name. No work this evening, I am going to read until I drop...I discovered a new writer (new for me, of course) - Sergei Lukyanenko, absolutely fantastic, he writes the sort of urban fantasy I like so much...And I want to start reading his books - well, what is translated in English.
One more thing. This is a compressed version of our day in Lala, sorry, MayaLand. I also have an old dog to take care of, and feed, and walk...and other small things, like a big apartment to clean, clothes to wash and iron...Aproximately a month ago (or more, I think) I started going to the dentist...I am still going, and believe it or not, I enjoy it. I walk to her cabinet and on my way I listen to audio books, and there, while she does her thing, I have time to put my thoughts in order...Could you believe it.
Gotta go now. Books to read, dreams to dream. Big day tomorrow...

(the picture in this post is a stamp with the Bee Maya, you know, the cartoon character. I think the original cartoon was German, therefore the German stamp)

Sweet Sunday - part II - The Pictures

As I said in my previous post, I'll post here the photos that I took yesterday...You can see my two "babies", my boy, Darie, he is 23 years old and my baby - girl, Maya.She is 3.

May God protect them!

They are my pillars of strenght, my reason to live...

Sweet Sunday...part I - Carnival Of Blogs, I am IN!!!!!

Image via Wikipedia

I am going to split this post into two parts, because I have trouble posting some pictures, and I don't want to mess it up.
So, part one:
I am in the Haveil Havalim - the "Welcome New Israelis" Edition that is hosted this week by Maya at "How To Be Israeli". Check out the carnival and Maya's blog, I guarantee you won't be dissapointed!
http://howtobeisraeli.blogspot.com/2009/07/haveil-havalim-224-welcome-new-israelis.html
My featured post is the one with my beloved poem of Israel: "perfumes, colors".

Thank you Maya!

************************************************************************************

Today is Sunday and I really have to gather my strenght for the week to come. I don't usually blog on Saturdays because, as I said, Saturday is family time, but also because I don't have time to! Maya is crazed with the fact that her daddy is at home so she is simply unstoppable.

Yesterday morning I sent them to the park, for some special father-daughter time (read- for Tibi to run after Maya and play with her in the sand). After they went, I sat on the couch and stared into space...I didn't know what to do...I am not used to the silence of an empty house, or to be by myself. For the last three years even when I go to the toilet I have one small follower...

Anyhow, yesterday because my son Darie was also at home, I was able to snatch some photos of him and Maya...You'll see them in the nex post...don't ask...had problems with the upload...

See you in a sec, then...

My Disfunctional Family

Image by santacrewsgirl via Flickr

I never ever have had what one would call a "standard" family. You know, the one you see in those framed pictures, with mothers, fathers and other relatives all over the place...My mother got herself divorced when I was 2 or 3 years old, and for a few years I remember being happy, having a sort of 2/3rds of a family, that's being me, my grandmother and my aunt (my grandmother's sister, that is). I don't know if there were other men in my mother's life during that period, but good as it was, it didn't last for long...My mother got remarried when I was 6 years old and after a year, my sister came along, then my brother and then the other brother...And after that, life has never been the same... I felt I didn't belong in that family, my stepfather made it pretty clear he didn't like me around, so I was sent to live with my aunt (and so I lived, on and off, until I got married). My mom and her husband never got along, so she divorced him also. Life got pretty hard after that. My mother had to work to earn enough to feed and dress us all, I was the one that had to entertain the kids and my grandmother was the one that cooked and cleaned and washed and cared for us. We all loved her very much, I think in a sense she was like a surrogate mother for us.
Meanwhile, our mother was busy looking for another step-father for us all. We saw an interesting assortment of guys in our house, from a former priest to a married guy, until mother settled to the worst of them all, the crazy, alcoholic Willy. When mother married Willy I was already married, with my own family problems to solve, my own demons to hunt. But I know that life was crazy back at mother's. And things went from bad to worse and it culminated with mother leaving everything and going to Germany with Willy. At that time I was already divorced, living in another city. I didn't get along with Willy, he made it very clear I am not to set foot in their house anymore, so I complied. I didn't have any choice, he was crazy, and it would have made my mother's life worse that it was.
What happened after mother left it is a mistery to me. My sister was already married and went to live in her husbands home town, and my two brothers were left like that, after my mother had to sell the house to pay the debts they had. I never asked them how they managed...WE don't talk much and we don't keep in thouch, only sporadically. The one I keep in touch with is my sister.
This is, in short, the story of our family.
Now, my mother is a widow again (I like to call her "the Black Widow" because all her three husbands died) and she is living in Germany. I live in Israel. One of my brothers lives in England, the other brother and my sister live in Romania, but it different cities. So, can we call this a family???

After I got divorced I swore I would't get married again...I didn't want my son to go through the hell that I went through will all the different "fathers" that I had. I was alone for aproximately ten years and only then I gathered the courage to get married for the second time...Now, no matter what happens, you'll have to drag me out of this marriage, because I am staying...I had enough marriages and relationships and men to last me a life-time. And two children from two different fathers is enough.

We go through a pretty rough patch righ now and I hope to God that I'll have the strength to go on, no matter what, because I made enough mistakes in my life and I had enough of paying for them...

Weddings Make Me Sad

Image by montpelier via Flickr

I have a love/hate relationship with weddings. On one side, of course I rejoice with the ones getting married, on the other had, I envy them. I think this comes because, although I was married twice, I never had a wedding. I was never a bride. Civil marriage, you see. At 19, when I got married the first time, my mother says never ever in her life is she going to pay for my wedding. Too expensive, too much troble, not worth the headache. My ex-husband's parents said approximately the same. They even didn't come to the ceremony. Neither did my mother. Or anybody from my family.

The second time I didn't give it so much thought. We and Tibi got married in a hurry, not because I was pregnant or something...I was living in Romania at that time and he was living in Israel. So he came to Romania, proposed and we got married something like two weeks afterwards. Then he returned to Israel and I followed him afterward. So, no wedding bells for me. Din't have time to think much, although I remember saying something to Tibi about a wedding dress. I know he eyed me suspiciously and that was it. In the end I had a very nice two piece suit, the color of butter.

Of course I regret it now. I think every girl dreams about her wedding. I remember that in my dream I always had a simple wedding, a white cotton dress and a daisy chain on my head. I always linked daises with my wedding, I don't know why.

So, weddings make me sad. But only for a while. Then I think about the blessings my (second) marriage bought me; and also about my son, the blessing from my first marriage and I feel fine.