Ghosts, Mr. Fix-it, and Praises of the Almighty. Also a princess.

Ezra: Mom, why have we never been in our attic? 

Me: Because.... um.... (should I mention that I'm afraid of bugs, rats, you name it? No, of course not.)

Ezra: Maybe... we could go up there and make it haunted. We could go to a place where people are buried and get some ghosts. (A lot more was said, some of it too abstruse for me, about how we could use Matthew's (school friend) machine--it can do anything, according to Ezra-- to make a hole for the ghosts to go in and out of, so they could come down and help us fight bad guys, and I'm sure I didn't catch every detail.)

I think I read in one of those very age-specific parenting books I used to obsessively read, before I figured out that they frustrate much more than assist, that there is some age (was it seven?) at which it is natural and normal for a child to be morbid, to draw creepy depressing pictures that, to any psychologist unaware that an "x"-year old did them, would lead to an instant and dire diagnosis. 'Cause, the other day, out of the blue, the kid asked: Mom, is (sic) there more dead people than alive?

Ghosts aside, Ezra has proved himself quite useful in the world of the living. He fixed Farmor's (Harriet, David's mom) cell phone, earning himself $5. (We had a lovely visit with her this past weekend.) He hammered (routinely does this) the nails that poke out of our deck and made it safe for the little ones.  And he unjammed a disc from the DVD player. How did he do this? Maybe dumb luck.

And then there's happy, pious Hannah: (singing, Ashrei-yoshrei) Mom, dan you help me with Ashrei? (siddurs spread all over the floor, but mom not a stickler in her case and allows the desecration) Mom, I'm up to Ashrei. I'm up to "six." (Whatever that means, it sounds very official.) Right after this, hearing Yasha cry: Mom, we have too det dat dying (i.e. crying) Yasha!

More recent Hannah-speak: Mom, dan you draw me a flah-wah? Mommy, dan I have Dashabanana (oats with bananas, "kasha" a generic term for porridge in Russian)? When she doesn't know a Russian word I use, she says "What is?" and when Dad doesn't understand something she says, she says, "It's Russian!" even if it's not.

Dad contributes this morning's dialogue...

Dad: Are you a type of a fly-bee?

Hannah: No.

Dad: What are you?

Hannah: A Hannah!

Dad: What's a Hannah?

Hannah (conspiratorial belly-laugh): Russian!

And on Sunday, tramping upstairs with a soggy balloon, obviously very pleased: Naomi gave me a balloon. I shleeped with my ba-loooon. I sleeped with it. 

This is a habitual speech pattern for her: I did such-and-such. I did. Or, I have such-and-such. I do. It's extremely pointless and charming and delicious and sure to be outgrown soon. :(

So long for now.... oh, and I don't want to embarrass Yasha, but I have to mention that he spent the entire afternoon in a romantic white ruffly blouse and a sort of thin denim farmer-girl jumper, which, bizarrely, actually brought out his masculine beauty. Naomi (costume designer) caught me unawares; she managed to really startle me with the vision of this Yasha. No photo, for goodness' sakes! He's a boy! 

Poignant sibling stuff

On Shabbos, Naomi at kitchen table, looking at pictures in a book, suddenly--

Naomi: Ezzie, do you love me or hate me?

Ezra (pauses, then face lights up as he sorts out his feelings): BOTH!

Me (sad, disappointed, mad at Ezra, but hiding it): Naomi, why do you ask?

Naomi: 'Cause he always be's (sic) mean to me, even though I love him.

Naomi, after camp one day last week

Something from everyone

Like the song says, the kids are all right.

Ezra (passing video store in car): Can we borrow movies from that store? (Yeah, but you have to pay.) Oh yeah... even though it's not a library, you can still borrow from it! 

Ezra (pushing deedees' highchairs closer together): They look cuter when they're together.

Naomi to construction worker waiting for the men's room at Albertson's: Our son is in there.

And here is Hannah's very own sing-songy brocha, transcribed verbatim, since she does the same thing almost every time: Modeh ani lifanech! Melech haolam! Asher twenny-shanu bimitzvah--tzitzit! 

Hannah, still singing: Cleanup, share-ing, cleanup, share-ing, everybody clean up! Cleanup! And, copying Uncle Moishe: No, no, no! I will not let you doe! 

After one of her whiny little rebellions--"No, I won't, I don't wah-noo! (they corrupted her!! I knew it would happen)-- she sometimes runs to the time-out corner, where she's seen other kids doing time, but doesn't get sent herself, and mommy's heart melts as I pull her out of there.

Hannah's little bedtime protest sentences: I dun wanna go to bed. I'm really a-wake! (or I'm just awake, or my favorite, I'm just dunna be a-wake... )

Saul--Saul is so funny: Yeah? Yeah!  (constantly asking this question, then answering himself). He can also say a proper "yes," though it sounds like "yesh."  And he seems to be calling his brother Yashie! He very dramatically says, Uh-ahhhhh (uh-oh tune). When he approaches something dangerous, we say "No, no!" and he says "Nah-nah!" Now, when he approaches the stairs the whirring fan, etc., he looks over at us, says "Nah-nah" and patters away. They both make the lip-smacking kissy noise! And thank you's, i.e. "dee-dow"s are back, and Yasha thanks too. Saul, when extremely impatient, bellows: Mah-mee, Da-dee.

Saul, Hannah and Yash play funny baby games. They run sooooooo fast, and flop on the big pull-ow, yelling aaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAA! wildly as they approach.... and then the flop (anticlimactic, timid little flop! sometimes missing the pillow itself). 

The same silly Saul, spinning, spinning, happy, happy, suddenly looks confused - doesn't understand that strange dizzy feeling, and... crash! 

As for me, I discovered I can still ride my unicycle!!!! I absolutely had to prove it to Julie, who stayed over for Shabbos...

Summertime, and the livin' is eeeasy

Saulchik's fancy car, which makes him right proud.  

Summer mathematicians. It must be summer because Naomi won't take off her bathing suit till bedtime (the better to hop in and out of our brand new and already filthy plastic Nemo pool, courtesy of Kristy, or "Dursty," if you ask Hannah. Thank G-d she had the good sense to buy it.)

Twins, reading the fine print. 

Ezra, sweetest imaginable version, enjoying his well-earned computer time. (His jobs: 1. Daven, 2. Read out loud for at least 15 minutes, 3. Do not harm sisters.) 

Yasha loves to make that lip-rolling, spitting noise you can just hear him making here. Today, in the first real instance (that I've been privileged to witness, anyway) of obviously intentional twin-communication, Yasha leaned over and did it to Saul, and Saul leaned back and did it to Yash, and they touched foreheads, then got back to the finger food on their high chairs. 

Larrabee State Park

This is where we went on our anniversary drive, and yes, it was long and lovely. We waded out a little, sat on rocks dangling our legs in the water, and it wasn't even cold. I forgot how much I love the feeling of water on my feet. I love sand. I love dreamy views. I love the sound of trains going by. I love getting away with my husband from the children for a little while (even though I couldn't stop thinking about how much Ezra would love the trains).

I found some lovely photos of the place online... (Did I remember my camera, the one that finally got repaired at the factory and lovingly welcomed home? What do YOU think?) I would love to go back and explore the area some more... and do you know what else? I saw a rabbit! I love seeing rabbits... how funny it is that it is almost always a solitary experience. There is no way some rabbit is going to stick around a trail long enough for the person behind you to see him. :-) 

Clayton Beach 

The view we saw, more or less (San Juans?)

A train just off Chuckanut Drive, which leads to the beach

There was a fly-bee

Hannah has this adorable habit of reminiscing about the past, telling and retelling stories from her exciting and eventful life. And so, the time has come to talk of the fly-bee. One afternoon, about a month ago, I suddenly heard loud, terrified sobs emanating from Hannah's (and Nomi's) room when she ought to have been napping peacefully (she is very good at this). I burst into the room to find her red-faced and shaking, and couldn't help but notice an extremely large and loud fly buzzing circles around the room. I shooed him away, she relaxed immediately, and after tight hugs and a dried face, fell back to sleep. Since then, every few days or so, her eyes will glaze over, and she will start telling the story of that strange day, sounding rather like an older woman (actually, reminding me of Karen Blixen in Out of Africa) reminiscing about her long-lost youth. We try not to laugh when she tells the story, always the same way. Here's how it goes (if you could only hear her...): 

I 'as in my bed.

There was a fly-bee.

He waked me up.

I was sad.

And every so often she will go back even farther in memory, to this past Erev Pesach (when we had no time to spare, but had to spare it) when she sat down on a ride-on car on our steep driveway and was whisked downhill, rapidly accelerating, and fell backwards onto her head:

I 'as on my truck.

I fell on my head.

I was sad.

That time, we had to call the paramedics, so dazed and confused did she seem after her fall. And, in Klinghoffer family tradition--she got a bear: her Misha.