Happy New Year, blog. The twins are new, too. They did what all twins are, apparently, supposed to do. They switched personalities. I now have on my hands an adorable fighter, biter, swatter, and (egads!) skin pincher-and-twister named Saul--that last trick of his hurts the most. And I have a nervous and helpless Yasha-victim, the original Biting teacher (and also a too-slow less-violently-bitten Hannah). And I have more baby gates than I have time to click into place, while I sneak twins into place in different parts of the house, praying they do not think the grass greener in the other twin's area... and then, they get hungry or tired or full-diapered by the time I do all this, anyway. It's rough these days, but they are absolutely delicious. And, did I mention that they are bad at sleeping again? So cute about it, even when they wail. But I have never been so tired (newborn days aside) and so emotionally spent and mentally frozen, while doing so much, as I am now. I am simply not coping, for the most part--though, I guess I must be. I should be sleeping now, and will be, soon..... please.
Saul sings. He sings Beethoven's 5th, he sings "Na-na-na-NA-NA" (like nananabooboo), he sings in his bed, he sings in his chair, he sings to me, he sings to all. He lips curl up in a smile, his eyes flash while he sings. And the twins talk. Yasha says "Pas-tah!" slowly, clearly and emphatically, and Saul says, quickly, "Mahmee-can-I-huv pah-tah?" and they both say "avocado." Ba-boo is now often ba-doo. They both say "Hola!" round the clock on days Olmedi is here, and sound like little Spanish babies. Saul sings: Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, Ma-mee, Ma-mee, Ma-mee, Ma-mee, Noma, Noma, Noma, Noma, etc. and now with my mom's visit, Nina, Nina, Nina, Nina. And his voice is sooooo sonorous. And Yasha... well, he climbs onto counters, opens cupboards, and smashes wine glasses. That's worth something, isn't it?
Hannah is still the very sweetest creature, but has begun trying out no's with more kavanah lately. Today, for the first time in months, I attempted a quit-cold-turkey version of potty training. My timing was no good. She's pretending to rebel! But my mom's in town, helping a lot, so I had to at least try. She had three accidents in less than two hours and I gave up, called our lovely parenting-expert neighbor, and got the green light to give up--nothing like affirmation. Woo hoo! Truth is, I was more guilt-ridden at the great cost of diapers than anything else. She'll learn when she learns--and parenting expert said only the most defiant girls are still untrained by age 4, and almost all by 3 1/2. Phew.
She has been drawing lovely flowers, and with each week they get lovelier. She drew me, once (I looked Japanese). Her art is getting more representative. Will have to post. She is so careful, her delicate little body bends over her paper so intently, her sure little fingers hold those oversized markers so sweetly. Hannah is ageless, and way too tiny for her age at the same time. It's sort of out of character that such a sage little girl is in diapers, but that, too, like everything about her, is endearing. She and Naomi have bonded over the art thing. Both of them can color for hours, and do, and Hannah is no slouch, so when they are drawing they are almost equals.
She still "davens" with me--I admit, it's SO often her initiative, and we sit on the ripped-up black floral couch and, hopefully, release some trapped sparks. She does, certainly, and maybe I can coast on that. Not-good Jewish mommy! :-( I often think that there's a part of Chanah in her, who after all, originated the Shemonah Esrei, and my Hannah is clearly religious. She says, about everything interesting or beautiful that I point out to her, "Hashem made that." And talks about LOVE so much: "Hashem loves me." Or "I love Hashem." I have fed her these things, but only a little; it is she who thinks of them. And there's lots of love-talk about other people, animals, toys.
Naomi has really grown up in school this year. She's found herself, has friends, does well, comes home happy, relaxed, quietly confident. She still gets tired and has tantrums, is still victimized by big brother, still leaves the most horrid messes in her wake, but there is a new maturity there. She is generous, when she has money she buys the girls little trinkets (there are only 3 girls and 3 boys total in her kindergarten class!), and they all draw each other pictures constantly. She drew an absolutely delightful picture of herself and the two other girls climbing a tree (will post!) that sort of captures the essence of kindergarten (which I never attended) for me.
I'm tired, but must say: Ezra read The Tale of Despereaux, which I then read too (we started out loud, he finished), and it was a real book. He's still reading The Littles series on his own, and now Treasure Island with David and Stuart Little with me (that is, we read to him). Naomi still does not have the attention span; she and Hannah are off coloring, or bouncing in their beds, while the Ez reads. Though she has started reading Sefer HaKriah HaShalem for school, and Ezra listens and plays teacher.
There's much else I don't have energy to post about, like the funny story of how Naomi learned the "f" word from fellow kindergarteners at her lovely Chabad school, and the hilarious story of how Ezra's fellow first-grader told him to hack his way into Club Penguin (a silly virtual world they play games in online), and how we were snowed in with 8 inches of snow all Chanukah (which is when Ezra learned to read, for real, and read recipes--fractions!-- and bake... it was
so unschooling-homeschooling for a while there, and I loved it) and we sledded down 68th, and David and I trekked to QFC in the snow, and how Hannah finally, after saying she would only go out into the snow "tomowwow" went out the day before it was all over and ate some with Naomi. And how Hannah and I went to see Ezra's Chanukah show at Kline Galland, and how Ezra's voice was one of the very happiest and loudest, unlike last year, and he was not shy, but smiled and enjoyed himself without being a ham.
And then there are all the other things I could write about that aren't about the kids at all, but they will have to file themselves away in memory land too. I'm off to read Rav Kook till I fall asleep--I mention him only because I think I have found my rabbi-love, though it's too soon too tell. With him, it seems, all things have their place and it sounds more and more like their rightful one. Good night.
If you looked, you must not be so squeamish, or so easily deterred. Very well, then. The story of this rat--my rat--is also the story of my great courage, which I must memorialize. I found him after the snow melted; he must have frozen to death eating our overflowing garbage (we had no pickup the week of the snow, of course). The odd thing is, we found him just as we were reading all about rat-villains in Despereaux, and we found him on Erev Shabbos, when Daddy was unavailable, so it was left to me to get him far, far, far away from the blue house before Shabbos began. I did it!! He rode in the passenger seat all the way to the emergency garbage dump-off place at the Dragon Park. Rats have the most disgusting tails, truly they do, and the rest of them isn't so lovely either. 
