List.

It’s been so long since I posted that WordPress asked for my password again.

Sigh.

I have a lot of posts brewing and have been saving up pictures for those posts, but then I end up posting some pithy little thing on Facebook or a couple of shots on Instagram and I’m done. What I can give you tonight is a list. And a promise that I’ll be back to more regular posting soon.

  1. I’ve had this crazy windfall of freelance work lately (some paid and some not) and although I am grateful for the work, finding the time to fit it into my schedule will be challenging. But, yes! Work! More money to spend on pajamas and sneakers for The Who!
  2. Pajamas and sneakers, indeed! The kid is growing like mad. We think he actually had a growth spurt last week (which I somehow thought ended in babyhood, but it turns out no.) He slept for what seems like days, felt a little warm, ate little, and then his toes burst through the tops of his sneakers and all of his jammies started riding up over his bellybutton. I’m not even exaggerating. When I finally got him to the shoe store, I found that he was poking the rubber right off the soles of his size 9s. I guess that’s because he’s supposed to be wearing a 10.5. Oops. Kid’s been running everywhere since he got his new kicks. “My knees can go up so high when I run in my new sneakers, Mama!”
  3. Went to the Please Touch Museum, Fireman’s Hall Museum, and Smith Playground. He’s getting more daring and more adventurous. There’s a video of the two of us careening down a 40-foot slippery wooden slide on a burlap sack at the playground. There’s a video of him laughing hysterically, trying to get his feet into grown-up-sized firefighter boots. There’s a video of him chasing his little pal around the museum. They’re awesome. Take my word for it.
  4. I’m way behind in my Draw Something and Scramble games and, frankly, this bullet point should not come before the next one, which is
  5. I’m behind on grading. Not way behind, but certainly not on top of it. Also, see number 1 above. Knowing that I have all this stuff to do does not motivate me to get it done. In fact, just the opposite. It kind of immobilizes me.
  6. Speaking of immobile, I should have been in bed an hour ago. Maybe more.
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Pesach.

Having a kid has made me a better Jew.

For example: Passover (which I now feel compelled to only call “Pesach” because apparently “Passover” is really just an English substitution for the actual name for the holiday.) We always “kept” Passover as a kid. My recollection is that we had lots of matzoh, missed bread intensely, and had a big family meal on the first night. I also recall the looooong seder at my grandparents’, trying to contain explosive giggles shared with my brother and cousins while my grandfather rambled in Hebrew, telling the story, which I never learned (or at least never fully committed to memory.)

I ate bread during Passover once I was an adult on my own. I think maybe for a few years, I tried to keep it, but with no one looking over my shoulder, no belief in God, and no one else to feed, I always lapsed. (Also, my birthday often falls during Passover and having suffered through many horrible excuses for a birthday cake as a kid, I have always felt justified in my enjoyment of a totally trayf birthday cake, regardless of whether it fell during Passover or not. This is true this year. My birthday is tomorrow and the plan has been to have my favorite cake from my favorite bakery tomorrow night.)

The Who, as I might have mentioned before, goes to a Jewish daycare/preschool and has since he was 13 months old. He has “Jewish Instruction” and knows more about some of the Jewish holidays than I do. Last week, a rabbi came to his class with hisĀ  “Matzoh Bakery” and they made their own matzoh. He came home telling me that “we don’t eat bread during Passover.”

Well, shit.

How am I supposed to have birthday cake in the middle of Passover when my 3-year-old knows better because of his fine Jewish education? (To my credit, I had already switched our weekly menu so that we weren’t making pizza on the first night of Passover. But, I had only moved it ahead a day, so, well…)

At some point during the day yesterday, m* and I looked at each other and both realized at almost the same time that we needed to rethink it all. We couldn’t have pizza on Saturday. And we couldn’t have birthday cake on Sunday. In fact, we really couldn’t eat bread all week. And, well, damn. We had better get some matzoh in the house. I came home and started googling kid-appropriate Passover stories and, finding nothing I really liked that was available immediately, I just opted to write my own. I bought a Seder plate, made a shopping list, and we picked up my favorite birthday cake yesterday. (Since we eat dinner well before sundown, we decided it would be ok to eat it last night, which we did, freezing the rest of it to be thawed after the holiday.)

All of a sudden, I’m a pretty good Jew. I know the whole story of Passover and I have already eaten two sheets of matzoh** (with the requisite shmear of whipped cream cheese.) It’ll be fun to hide the afikomen tonight and who knows; maybe next fall we’ll even build our own sukkah! (Or, y’know, maybe not.)

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**I am only a “pretty good Jew” because I bought the “not for Passover” matzoh. It’s totally made with flour.*** The real stuff tastes like packing material. Baby steps.

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***ETA: Based on the first comment to this post, I did a little search and saw that it’s not the flour that makes it chametz. It’s the egg. And the possibility that there are both egg and water in the dough. I still feel ok with eating it. But I’ll get the “right” kind for out Seder tonight.

Rammy.

Oh, the boy. He’s a menace lately. Chalk it up to giving up the binky four days ago. Or not being able to nap at school. Or starting to wrangle himself into a daily poop. Or the big-boy bed that came last week. A whole lot of change in not a whole lot of time. He’s handling it all as well as can be expected, really.

But, still.

He climbed onto the dining room table after dinner. On to the table. Just thought that might be an appropriate or good idea. And when we wrangled him back down and gave him our sternest looks, he did it again. And then, after the bath, when we’re supposed to be quietly and sweetly getting into jammies, winding down, reading stories, he looked me square in the eye and started singing at the top of his lungs. Right in my face.

The Dr. Jekyll counterpart to this Baby Hyde is that he has been doing a lot more independent play. He’s really into the train table and has committed the Thomas theme song to memory. This morning he sang it seven times in a row on the way to school in the backseat. (To my delight, he invited me to join in once or twice. Usually he silences me.) He’s also really digging playing in the sandbox lately. (Sorry. Pun intended.)

What I keep thinking is, “Ah, well. I guess you take the good with the bad,” except I’d really rather not label his behavior with those extremes. So, in the meantime, I guess we’ll just keep taking the really-appreciated with the less-than-desirable.

At least he’s back to sleeping through the night. Knock wood. At least there’s that.