Wisconsin (Or: Collage-a-palooza)

{In which I annoyingly think that every. single. photo. I took of my kids this past weekend in Wisconsinland is precious and MUST BE SHARED. But hey, you're looking, so you musn't mind too much.}

Ah, to take a 36-hour vacation!
To depart at 10:00 on a Saturday and return at 10:00 Sunday night!
What caprice!

What spontaneity!

What relaxation!

Oh, right. Unless you happen to have two very small children.

Our trip started with flight delays - waiting, waiting, and more waiting for the weather to clear up at O'Hare and then Columbus.
Having (almost) no toys and (almost) no food, the boys moped around and chewed on waiting-area chairs.


Exhausted, yet still forced into matching sweater-vests and plaid shorts (oh, the humanity!) the boys partied down at Nana and Pa's 50th anniversary bash.


The next morning, Ashi was looking pretty rough. Good thing he had access to coffee* and cold pizza - breakfast of champions.



Then, being the chipper morning person I am, I decided it was a great idea to drag the whole family to the beach for sunrise - and it was.


Then came the Giganto Scary Family Photo, in which everyone was wearing white tops and blue jeans...oy.


On the schlep back to O'Hare and then to our departing gates, Asher was entertained by Auntie Al's sunglasses, comforted by Elle the elephant, and sustained by appropriately messy spaghetti.


So, to recap -
We schlepped
We celebrated
We woke up
We felt the sand between our toes
We posed for posterity
We schlepped back.

All in all, a pretty awesome weekend. Thanks, Wisconsin.
____
*Okay parenting police, don't freak out - Ashi wanted to use that coffee cup so badly that finally we just filled it with water. Problem solved.

Stress Relief

How do you relieve stress
at the end of a long day?

How to Stay Friends Forever

I know a way to stay friends forever,



there's really nothing to it;



I tell you what to do,



and you do it.

~Shel Silverstein

We had a great time visiting with Nevoh and her Abba and Ima this weekend.
Rami really wanted Nevi's precious paci.
His plan to steal it would have been flawless,
had it not been for the telltale pink (girly) color.
(Nice try, Ram Ram)

On a side note, Nevoh let me shoot some pictures of her in her pretty dress. See?

That's What an Abba is For

Attention all little kids everywhere:

If your Shabbos schluffie* should be interrupted (much too early)

by a thunder storm (an unreasonably loud one, if you ask me,)

It’s okay if you need your Abba to retrieve you for cuddles and love,

And if you need him to convince Ima to let you have Shabbat lunch while lying on the couch.

Later on, you might need your Abba to put some band-aids on your knees (even though you have no injuries to speak of,)

Or to hold your ice cream cone for you (even though you are perfectly capable of doing that for yourself.)

It’s even okay to insist that he hold you on his lap, (even though he already has his hands full with another squirming boy.)

It’s okay – really.

(After all, your Shabbos schluffie was ruined!)

And isn’t that what an Abba is for?

*Shabbos Schluffie (SHAHB-uhss SCHLUHFF-ee), n. A particularly luxurious kind of nap, instigated by extreme sleepiness which is mysteriously un-preceded by the low level of exertion characteristic of a Saturday morning. As schluffies go, it is the best kind, owing to the unspecified wake-up time in combination with the promise of delicious Shabbat food upon waking.

Trouble, Round 2

It's hard to believe that it has been 15 months since I posted the original "Trouble" post.
Asher, sweet, darling, angelic boy that he is,
gave me a few weeks to get over his transition from "baby" to "big boy,"
waiting a full month to go from crawling to cruising.

I have learned a simple truth about my Ram-Ram.
As much as he loves me
(and, OH! does he L-O-V-E his Ima...)

he
just
can't
stop himself

from growing up
way too fast.

{Presenting: "Trouble, Round 2."}

Two Years

Two years ago,
I met Asher.

His entire little body could fit, curled up, on my chest.
I marveled over his tiny toes,
his mewling cries,
the impossible softness of his skin.
His utter perfection.

Those first days and weeks,
He dozed almost constantly
as I sang him songs
told him the story of my love for him
whispered prayers of thanksgiving in his downy ears.
I would lay next to him long after nursing
positioning my face in front of his open mouth
yearning to memorize the unanticipated sweetness of milky baby breath.

In those days,
my heart began to beat in a different way;
the way a mother's heart beats -
not harder, not stronger, not more often
just fuller somehow -
fuller with a mother's intuition
that watching children grow is bittersweet.

Two years later,
Asher is my bright boy.
When he smiles, the sun seems to shine on his face.

During snuggle time, he no longer fits on my chest.
But his arms wrap around my neck in a familiar pose.
Comforting (us both.)

Those tiny toes hit the ground running now,
requiring kisses for repair when stubbed.

That mewling voice now haltingly strings together sentences -
demands, exclamations of joy, declarations of love.
(I never imagined "Ima!" could sound so sweet.)

His gorgeous baby skin has many times
been scraped and bruised by little-boy adventures.

Bedtime prayers have not changed -
(Shema, Hashkiveinu, the Angel Song -)
except, now, Asher sings them along with me.

One day he will sing them for himself.

But not just yet.

Here's to another year of growth, change, discovery, and adventure ahead,
however bittersweet it may be.

Happy Birthday, my sweet boy.

Two Years: Prologue

Most kids in this world get to enjoy at least two birthdays
as the baby of the family.

For Asher, it was just one birthday as our one and only,
dandled darling,
ooshie-pooshie,
center-of-attention-at-all-times boy.
(He never asked to be a big brother a mere 16 months after his own grand entrance.)

That's why my heart swelled with love
when I saw my big boy
(without being asked, nudged, coerced, or guilted in any way)
bend down
and share one of his beloved french fries
with his little brother.

After all, isn't that what brotherhood (and being a big boy) is all about?