Horrible hazelnuts

I used to love Nutella. I have vivid memories of scraping and then licking Nutella jars completely clean in college (etiquette be damned). It was the challah dip of choice at our Shabbos table when D. and I were newlyweds and then (almost immediately!) new parents, living in our Groveland beach hut of blessed memory. The love affair abruptly ended when half of 14-mo. old Ezra's delicious baby face erupted in hives when he had a taste of it, and we had to break our Shabbos idyll with phone calls and paramedics cars and emergency rooms, crowned with an interminable stay in the dreary Bellevue Crowne Plaza hotel (me pregnant to bursting with Naomi). We were forced to switch to butter and/or hummus after that - very poor substitutes indeed! Nutella is just too good for this world... we were undoubtedly eating it at the expense of our chelek in olam haba. 

Anyway, this past Sunday, Ez was at a playdate, and the two six-year-olds - naturally - raided the pantry. They gobbled up an Israeli chocolate bar, which (as they often do) contained hazelnuts. For a moment he felt like he was choking, told his friend's mom, we spoke over the phone, she gave him Benadryl, watched him for a little while, everything seemed fine, so she took the boys out to play. When I came to pick him up a couple of hours later however, at the Crossroads playground, his friend ran to my car and told me Ezra had just thrown up. I ran to him and found him covered in hives, his back, stomach, legs, face, arms, everything, and scratching himself wildly--it was like an aftershock that's worse than the original earthquake. We threw him in the car and raced to Overlake Hospital, saw a paramedics car on the way, almost caused an accident honking and speeding to catch up with it, but eventually flagged it down and got one of the guys to hop out and zap Ezra with an Epipen on the sidewalk, while his car sped away and a replacement sped up (this part was like an adrenaline-charged movie... only real). His hives slowly started to subside, and he stopped itching almost immediately. We proceeded caravan-style to the emergency room. Banina and a brave Ezra waited a few hours while the doctors watched him, and I took the carload of babies and Naomis home to eat dinner. A few hours later, I picked the two of them up. All was well--but it was TERRIFYING. I guess I have to take his allergy seriously now, and not try to beat it by pretending it's mild. It's not. My kid has one of those crazy nut allergies you read about in the N.Y. Times Magazine, or some such publication that likes to take itself very, very seriously. What a strange and crazy world.

The good part is, all was well just in time. On Tuesday morning, Daddy and Ezra caught a plane to L.A. (for Ezra it was a total surprise), so D. could give an important speech, and........ take Ezra to Disneyland! They spent all of yesterday there, and I can't wait to hear all about it. 

The world according to Hannah

Hannah is such a glorious toddler that today she deserves her own purely factual little post. This allows me to catalog (for her future amusement) how various sayings of hers actually sound, in her dialect, which involves the simple substitution of d's for "k" sounds, and for other hard sounds like "g". The big kids have also started speaking to her in her dialect, so for example they will say, "Hannah, dan you dum here?" without even thinking about it. You can do it, too. It's fun! 

(Hearing me clear my throat): Do you have a doff? Do you wan some dee? And: Dan you det me some apple joos? I have a dup! Daddy, you need a deepa! I.e. (Ezra), wan' your deepa? Mommy, don' darry me! Mommy, dan you fly me over da date (referring to our baby gate)? (Seeing me with clippers) Mommy, don' dut my lilla nails! (Being asked how she was): Dood! (Being asked what she was): I'm a diddy dat! (Padding into our bedroom on Shabbos morning, pretending to be pushy): Daddy--lay (sic) down! Daddy--doe to sleep! (Re. what's missing from our Shabbos table): Daddy, you needa diddush dup!

Her favorite book: The Little Diet Book (quiet, that is)!

The big kids try hard to corrupt her, teaching her to say things like "go away" and "stupid" and potty talk, and she will have none of it. When she hears, or is merely afraid she might hear, some rude language, she protests: Nomi, dun say 'Doe away!'" 

And while playing in the bath the other day she firmly declared, brow furrowed with determination, "Mommy, I won' say 'stupid'!"

She is naturally loving... I won't forget how, Purim a.m., when I was (of course) duty-bound to be happy, but for reasons of exhaustion having something to do with Shaloch Manos assembly and costume-related scuttling, burst into quiet tears, she sang, with mournful compassion, "Ooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, Maaaaaaaaaaaahmeeeeeee. I need a hug for you!" And hugged, with tiny and extremely comforting arms. 

When she passes a mezuzah (in my arms) she kisses it and says, "Mwah! I diss the mezuzah!" and when she dries her hands after negelvaser (or on any other occasion, "religious" or not), she says only one word of the bracha, having somehow hit upon the most important one of all: A-d-n-ai, A-d-n-ai, she repeats over and over again, with sparkling eyes and plenty of enthusiasm.



She and Saul went on a long road trip in my van, never leaving the driveway, but they felt themselves adventurers. They took turns at the wheel. Saul woke up the retirees of the neighborhood when he leaned his heavy body against the horn, and scared himself silly besides (red-faced, teary-eyed Saulchik not shown here to protect fragile ego).

Happy belated Mother's Day (to me!)

They didn't try too hard, but I value this card for David's brilliantly succint summary of the deedees (you have to click on picture below to read it). Don't judge how much or little this mom is loved by the obvious slap-dashishness of the effort, okay? Promise?

You've come a long way, babies

Above, the firstest ever photo, taken by Daddy with camera phone. And below... playing with the Barbie karoake Thing. 

The twins' first birthday passed, discreetly nestled in with Shabbos and a friend's son's Bar Mitzvah. We left our dear boys to attend said Bar Mitzvah, and in our absence they were duly fed their birthday cupcakes, but no one really noticed (except the lucky babysitter). At the pediatrician's, during their 1-year check-up, they were admired, but not so admired as to be freed from their three (six!) awful pokes and Snoopy bandaids. Saul amazed me by walking eleven steps (after a few weeks of one-two-splat, one-two-splat...) right there in the exam room, barefoot and blubbery. He was brilliant. No, I do not favor Saul, even though he says Mama (Yasha still doesn't) and walked eleven steps in front of the nurse only 3 days after his 1st birthday. Yasha tips the scales his way with his eyes...sigh. Then Saul hugs with clinging arms and chest so close, and tips the scales his way. Then Yasha flutters his eyelids. And so on.

Their grey-blond hair is growing unruly, and Daddy would have me cut it. I am relishing the wispy curls and fine, flowing, unbrushable fluff. I love the deedees.  

Fun with kids

A few things I don't want to forget...

Hannah (cuddling with Daddy): Daddy, I laaaaah you. Daddy, you're my Bear. You're my Misha. You're my Shabbashoes. You're my baby! (all objects very dear to her, so it is high praise indeed.)

Naomi (coloring with Ez on Sunday afternoon): Ezwa, why do you always know what you're making--and why do I not know what I'm making? (It's so sweet the way she naturally looks to him as to an oracle, despite his bullying ways...)

Ezra (poring over camping book): I hope we can go camping real soon. That's the reason why I like having barbecues... and eating marshmallows. It's 'cause I'm getting ready to go camping!

Ezra (running to me): Mom, guess what! I have to tell you something! Naomi found a little boy!!! Watch this. (screaming) Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!!!! (echo of unknown, unseen child heard from beyond the trees, saying Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh!!) See? I told you. (They do it a few more times.)

Naomi (shouting): Where are you? What's your name? 

Ezra: Mom, if I decided to be an astronaut, would I have to stay in space forever?

Ezra: Mom, can you get me my own computer? Shem Tov has his own computer. Ohhhhh..... and I really want an iPod. 

Mom: Do you even know what an iPod is?

Ezra: Yeah! It's this teeeeny computer, and it has earphones, and it plays music.

Mom: Do you know what a Walkman is?

Ezra: No. Ohh, ohh, but Mom! For my birthday, can I pleeeeeez have a cell phone or a computer. One of those two. 

Daddy: How about a patsh? That's free! (very funny...)

We had a fun Sunday. We made pancakes shaped like circus animals--a seal with a ball on its nose (the ball kept breaking off, and getting "tasted"), an elephant, a lion. I tried a new recipe and discovered that beating the eggs to death before adding everything else makes light, airy, fancy-brunch-cafe-worthy pancakes. The kids stayed outside most of the day, and Ezra busied himself hammering to bits a decrepit old barstool--yes, hammering, since we don't own any proper implements--so it could fit in our garbage bin. It took a while, but he did it. I don't claim to understand it, but there's something about violent destruction (lawful in this case) that fills a boy with glee, and inspires him to work up a real sweat. Next, he attended to the needs of his and Naomi's pet worm, Jackie, who lives in a giant upturned storage bin and gets routinely fed and watered (after he's finally found; he's very good at hiding). 

Clark and Agua (the crazy nonsensical and not-quite-clever names of Saul and Jacob, respec-tively) got to ride ride-on cars outside, chew handlebars and each other, and soak up some much-needed Vitamin D. And Hannah and Naomi dressed, undressed, accessorized, were variously shod, and so on, with no one to rush them anywhere.  And that's about it. 

They made it

The war was long and bloody (actually, watery), but in the end, they wore us down by sheer persistence. Despite leaping and prancing adults snatching them, time and again, from the potty environs, the twins achieved their goal. They put their little heads together, and discovered our

Achilles' heel. The little geniuses realized that we were much, much less careful about lowering the master potty's master-lid, since we count on the bedroom door to do its job and stay closed. Not anymore, we don't.