This is Noam’s litany: It is not fair that when a boy grows up he can’t become a woman. Why does he want to grow up to be a woman? Because he wants breasts. It is not fair that only Avigail gets to have breasts. Why does he want breasts? So he can feed Aviv.
We have had this conversation three times this week. Life is just not fair.
Aviv turned nine months old today. Today, he figured out how sit up all by himself. He also did a pretty good job of chasing a one-eyed cat. Cuteness.
It must have been a couple of months ago when this started, but Noam has been repeating this mantra over and over again. “Play with me!” The minute he wakes up and gets out of bed. Five bites into any meal. “Play with me!”
Initially he only asked Lior. He sometimes asked me. Sometimes he asked us to put Aviv next to him so he could play with him. And then he discovered Avigail. “Play with me!” he demanded. And amazingly, she did! After lamenting about the lack of sibling play going on in our family, suddenly they are playing together ALL THE TIME. They’re also fighting a lot, but mostly they can keep each other engaged for quite a while. It’s like something clicked and Avigail realized that there is fun to be had with her (sometimes annoying) little brother. They play flying ponies, rocket ships, trains, boats, school.
So now Avigail is Noam’s favorite “Play with me!” target. “Aviagil! Play with me!” he demands. When she’s not interested he’ll often complain and is not interested in the second best option. “I want Avigail to play with me! Not you! Avigail!” (I shouldn’t be surprised though, I’m the last person on Noam’s playing totem pole).
The play must go on.
Today we played musical beds. We moved Aviv to sleep in the big crib. It’s probably about time, because he must be way over the weight limit for his little mini co-sleeper and it was getting pretty snug.
So the crib moved from the kids room to our room, despite Noam’s suggestion that Aviv come sleep with them. And the mini co-sleeper moved to the entrance to be delivered to a friend expecting a baby soon. Lior rigged the crib to our bed and now we have a giant crib-co-sleeper. By the time Lior was done setting it all up with the “help” of the kids, Aviv was beside himself with exhaustion. He seemed a little confused about this new situation, but he is currently sleeping. In my mind this comfortable new bed will make everyone sleep longer.
The night is still young.
Tonight Avigail lost her first tooth. It had a five year tenure. Knocked out by the toothbrush. Avigail didn’t even know about the tooth fairy. Silly parents, we had to say something. However, some doubt has been expressed about this nothion. “There aren’t really any fairies” said Avigail. “How’s that fairy going to get the box? Fairies are tiny, it’s too big” she continued. “Is there or isn’t there a tooth fairy?”
And all I said was “we’ll see.”
The total number of intact baby teeth in this family: 45.
Avigail – 19
Noam – 20
Aviv – 6 (2 on the bottom, 4 on the top).
If I were counting just a few weeks ago it would have been 46. Avigail – 20 (one loose tooth), Noam – 20, Aviv – 5 (and one waiting to come out), Me – 1 (I just lost my last baby tooth at the ripe age of 38.)
More teeth (coming in, falling out) to follow.
Noam has been a pain in the butt these past couple of weeks. We’ve all been home together for winter break and it was just, well, I guess just how normal three year old’s behave. “Like PMS” said Tess. And that, if you’ve ever known a three year old, is just a brilliant description.
But between trying to destroy our house, screaming and arguing with us, using the word “NO!” in every sentence and narrowly escaping injury while attempting a balancing act on the furniture, he also makes us laugh. It’s a good way to get some breathers. They are truly needed.
Aviagil: “Do you know what I want to be?”
Me: “What, when you grow up?”
Avigail: “Yes. I’m going to be a farmer. I’m going to grow flowers and cucumbers and carrots and…”
Noam: “And I’m going to be a garbage man with a garbage truck!”
***
Lior: “Noam, I think you are going to be a Professor” (Noam apparently did something clever)
Noam (screaming): “NO! I am NOT going to be a Professor! I am going to be a garbage man with a garbage truck!”
***
Lior: “Noam, what did you do? You spilled my coffee all over the place!” (Lior put his freshly made coffee on a low chair in the living room and went to pick up the phone)
Noam: “Well, that’s not a good place for coffee. And this is just the way my body is!” (because we keep telling him to please control his body.)
***
Noam (after being in bed for a few minutes): “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!”
Lior: “What’s up, it’s time for you to go to sleep”
Noam: “I have something in my ear”
Lior: “What’s in your ear?”
Noam: “I think I have a fly in my ear”
Now, what do you say to that?
Write something about the kids every day. Or every other day.
Yesterday Avigail told me she knew what my first word was. “It was ice” she said. “How old were you? One? Can one year old’s have ice cream?”
And I was about to say “And I know what your first was.” But I searched my mind, and I couldn’t. No recollection at all. We must have written it down somewhere. Where?
So I’ll write something about the kids every day. Or every other day.
I step into the bathtub and draw the shower curtain. My hand is on the faucet.
Knock knock.
“Mommy, I have to make kaki.”
Door closes. I turn on the water. I listen to a little kid humming. I shampoo my hair.
Knock knock.
“Mommy! Can I come in? A can I come in? I need to make kaki!”. I hear a small body plopping on the potty.
I’m almost done with my shower.
“Mommy, I’m done!”
One mommy in the shower, 2 kids pooping on their respective pots. One bathroom.
A couple of months ago at a department store N comes up to me with a teen bra on a hanger: “look mommy, for mermaids!”
In the craft store N was checking out bolts of fabric: “Horses!” he says petting some faux fur.
Tonight’s bedtime conversation with A:
A: How old will I be when N is 10?
Me: Twelve.
A: How old will I be when N is twelve?
Me: You’ll be fourteen.
A: I’ll be a teenager! Wow! How old will I be when N is twenty?
Me: Twenty two.
A: How old will I be when little A is 20?
Me: You’ll be twenty five. You’ll be a young woman.
A: Were you a young woman?
Me: Yes… I was also a teenager and also a kid. I was also five.
A: How old were you when you got kids?
Me: You mean, how old was I when you were born? I was thirty three.
A: So you weren’t a young woman anymore!
Me: Uhhh (speechless).
A: I don’t ever ever ever want to be a grown up.
Me: Oh?
A: Yes, it’s a lot of work! You have to take care of little kids and take them places. And you have to walk a lot. That’s why.
Yeah, that’s why!
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