The Diva Trantrum
Yoni is coaching Elan’s baseball team this year, and for any number of reasons, he’s gotten reeeeally into it. Those reasons include:
1. Yoni likes baseball and was a star pitcher in his day.
2. Yoni works too hard and it’s a fun and easily justifiable distraction.
3. Yoni gets reeeeally into things.
Both Elan and Ariel happen to be pretty naturally athletic, and Elan has proven to be great all-round player. So Yoni’s been practicing with him almost every day, talking about the upending season incessantly, basically ignoring my warnings that Elan might perceive his daddy’s enthusiasm as pressure to perform.
Before the first game, Elan’s getting changed into his White Sox uniform, and Yoni’s trying to pump him up.
“Okay, so here’s the batting order I came up with, tell me what you think -”
Without warning Elan collapses in a naked heap to his bedroom floor and starts to wail.
I’m not goooooing!
Excuse me?
I don’t want to plaaaaay! I hate baseball! I never wanted to sign up! You signed me up without even assssking meeeee! I’m not gooooing. I quit!
Yoni and I look at each other.
“What’s wrong? Are you nervous?”
“No! I just don’t. Want. To. Play.”
“You never said anything about this before…”
“I. Don’t. Care. I’m not going.”
“Well if you’re serious, we certainly aren’t going to make you play. It’s supposed to be fun for you.”
(Yoni:) “Just let me know so I can try to quickly get a replacement player.”
“Get one.”
(Yoni, very gently:) “Please honey, can we talk about it? Have I been making you nervous? You know it doesn’t matter how you do. And you’re going to be great! I just wanted it to be something fun we can do together. Tell me what’s going on.”
“NO. LEAVE ME ALONE. I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT. I’M NOT GOING AND THAT’S MY FINAL DECISION.”
I take Yoni aside and suggest we give the kid some space to calm down and clear his head. Elan does well with space when his emotions need a little sorting out. Reluctantly, he follows me out of the room.
Twenty minutes later, Elan emerges from his room, fully clothed in his baseball duds. He goes silently to the bathroom and washes his hands and face. Then he turns to me.
“Fine. I’ll play. But I don’t want to bat one of the first. I want to go last. I don’t care if you’re supposed to put the better batters first.”
“You got it.” I know when not to push.
The game is a blast, and after a lecture from Yoni on middos, his team goes on to win 7-1. I’d been watching Ariel’s game across the park, so after confirming that Elan is on cloud nine – earlier drama all but forgotten – I let him spend the rest of the afternoon at Kevin’s house.
When I pick him up later, he is ready to talk. “It was so much fun,” he enthuses. “I got like 3 people out at first base, and scored 3 runs!”
“That’s awesome! Were you nervous the first time you got up to bat?”
“Oh yeah. I was so nervous that my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. We get five pitches and I totally missed the first four because I couldn’t keep my hands still. And then right before the fifth pitch, I said to myself I’m not going to let my team down. And I made myself get calm, and I smashed it. It was a home run but then they made me go back to second because they weren’t allowing more than a certain amount of runs per inning or something. And after that, the rest of the game, I was totally fine.”
It’s so delicious to hear him describe his feelings, to hear how much he understands his own feelings. I’m told teenage boys often stop communicating so intimately with their parents, and, struck by he realization that he’s closer to an adolescent than a newborn, I don’t take the emotional intimacy for granted.
Still, however, I guess I don’t always know when not to push it.
“So,” I begin casually. “What was that little scene in your bedroom this morning all about?”
Elan catches my eye in the rear view mirror.
“MOM. I said I don’t want to talk about that. I’m not talking about it. Got it?”
Indeed I do.
My Little Tom Collichio
Elan: Mommy, your shnitzel is the BEST.
Me: It needed a little salt…
Ariel: It needed a LOT of salt.
Who Does This 5 Year Old Think He Is?!
Ariel: “A Rabbi? You must be joking. I’m going to be a soldier in the Israeli army! So what age do you think I should join?”
Me: “I don’t think they allow you in before you’re a certain age, like 18 or something.”
Ariel: “I make my own decisions.”
And later the same day…
“We just passed a statue of Jesus! Or Jeez, whatever his name is. It’s either of him or George Washington!”
Conversation
It’s 10:30 PM and I’m in bed, mesmerized by a show about alligators on Animal Planet. It’s been an exhausting day, including an appointment with Adam’s cardiologist (a 4-hour ordeal, start to finish) and Yoni finally coming face-to-face with—and forgiving—the guy who beat him up all those years ago. I’m ready to turn in, so I call Yoni in the office, where he’s putting in a couple of late-night hours.
“Hey, just wanted to say goodnight. You going to work late?”
“No, actually I’m just going to invoice 88point5 and then come in. I’m beat.”
“K. Yon?”
“Yeah?”
“Have we ever discussed how alligators are, like, basically dinosaurs that are still in our midst? I mean, I know lots of animals are descendants of dinosaurs and what-not but seriously, alligators and crocodiles are like, complete remnants of that time! I’m watching this show on Animal Planet and these young guys are wrestling with a ‘nuisance ‘gator’ in the Everglades and the thing is like eleven feet long and it’s a total monster, and they just use duct tape to shut it’s mouth while they try to shove it into a van—duct tape—and move it to a new home far away from humans. And I’m looking at this thing and I’m thinking, nobody would act like this was so normal if they were taping a T-Rex’s mouth shut, and yet the thing looks practically the same only flatter, and…”
He cuts me off. “Okay, CLEARLY this is really on your mind and can’t wait. You need someone to talk to about alligators and dinosaurs with. I’m coming in now.”
Seconds later he appears, and I rewind the show for him. He humors me for a few minuts and then asks if I mind if he watches the end of Cinderella Man and even though he’s seen it six times and I can’t relate, he hasn’t watched TV in ages so I acquiesce. I’ve watched a lot of TV lately.
Just as I’m dozing off, Ariel, who has been asleep for hours, appears in my room. He’s squinting in the glare of the television, his face and hair puffy with sleep, and clutching his stomach. “My tushy really hurts!” He wails. “I need to poop and I can’t get it out and it really hurts and I tried walking around a lot but it didn’t work! What should I dooooooo?”
I suggest going back to sleep and trying again the morning, but he claims to have been waiting for two days. I suggest sitting on the pot and just spending some time there but he’s too tired. He’s already had a lot of water to drink—no dice. “Raisin Bran!” I finally declare. Hey, it works for me. He’s game, so we head to the kitchen, hand-in-hand.
Moments later we’re perched at the table and I’m pouring him a bowl. He chews in silence, eyes closed, half-asleep, while I watch him. I’m checking the clock, still hoping to be asleep myself before midnight, or at least before Adam’s next feeding. Suddenly Ariel puts down his spoon and turns to me, eyes struggling to widen. I figure he’s going to tell me all systems are a go.
“Was Gan Eden destroyed after Adam and Chava sinned and were kicked out?”
I’m not going to get away BS-ing this one…
We ran into Ariel’s teacher over the holidays, and she took the opportunity to tell us how he’s doing in her class so far. She said that emotionally he is quite obviously one of the youngest (he’s actually THE youngest), that his immaturity does show at times, that there’s a group of younger kids that gravitate toward each other and are more of a challenge. “But he’s so bright that you couldn’t hold him back,” she assured us. “His questions are so sharp and thoughtful that sometimes I’m afraid to call on him in case I can’t answer them.”
Of course, every now and then I treat him like the emotional, barely-five-year-old he is, assuming I can get something by him, and am reminded of just this trait when he goes all Law student on me. Like yesterday:
“Mommy, Ariel KEEPS calling me mean names! Stuff we’re not allowed to say! DO something!”
“Ariel, seriously, from now on every time you call Elan a name you’re going to have to pay me.”
“But I don’t have any money!”
“You’ll have to work for me, do jobs to get money, and then pay me.
“If you’re the one paying me, then I’d be giving you right back your own money. So how does that actually help you and punish me at ALL?”
Later that night, he calls to me from his bed:
“Mommy!!!”
“Yes?”
“Do I ask you for a drink in my bed every single night? Yes, I FINK I do. Do I have a drink on my table right now? NO I FINK I DON’T. So can I have a drink please?!”
And over yom tov:
“Ariel, go get dressed.”
“You get me dressed!”
“You’re five. That’s old enough to get dressed by yourself.”
“But you said you would get me dressed. You PROMISED.”
“I said no such thing!”
“Mommy. I wasn’t born yesterday, okay? I remember you telling me that.”
More of a challenge, indeed.
Funny
6: 45 PM: Elan and I are sitting at the kitchen table, him doing homework, me alternately cursing and blessing the ins and outs of Joomla!. The phone rings, and I answer – then hold the receiver away from my ear as an extremely high-pitched voice replies, “THIS IS ABRAHAM CZUKER! IS ELAN THERE!”
I hand the phone to Elan, and he’s clearly thrilled, a phone call from a friend! “Hey Abraham!” Listens, then turns to me. “When am I available for a play date?” Details are worked out, a play date arranged for Sunday. Elan hangs up, smiling.
“That was nice,” I say. “I didn’t know you were friends with Abraham. You never talk about him.”
“Yeah, he’s like, SUPER nice,” Elan explains. “Like today? You didn’t give me so much snacks? So Abraham shared his with me because I was STARVING.”
I think, Abraham Czuker saves my parenting ass. Terrif.
“Cool,” I manage. Then Elan puts down his pencil and grins, elbows on the table, leaning toward me conspiratorially. I’m mesmerized for a minute by his thick, rumpled hair and perfectly Little Boy face, the freckles that multiplied over the summer across his nose and cheeks in that just-right amount that never satisfied my own. The little dimple just above his chin shows, and I’m suddenly tempted to lean forward and smooch that nose, or bite it, maybe. But I know whatever he’s about to tell me will be lost in his annoyance so I resist.
“Everyone thinks I’m so funny,” he reveals.
“They do?”
“Yeah. Like I’m the funniest in my class. I make Ezra laugh so hard he slaps his knees and tells me to stop. I do silly things and I have these funny things I say to my friends…I can’t explain it, I’m just, like, funny.”
He’s become really self-conscious of late, so I’m thrilled that he’s so clearly proud of his new development.
“Well, you’ve got funny genes,” I say. “Your daddy was one of the funniest in his class, and I was kind of funny too, in my day…”
But the moment has passed, he becomes obviously bored as soon as I mention his father and I. He turns back to his weekly homework packet. “What’s an ‘analogy’ again?”
I know I’m a few short years away from him just outright rolling his eyes at me. Maybe less.
So I just go ahead and kiss him.
Yom Kippur
I fasted at home, with Ariel and Adam, expecting to get really sick, which thankfully, I did not. Ariel did, however, choose yesterday to share ALL of his thoughts and feelings about everything in his life, in an endless stream of high-pitched migraine-inducing chatter, albeit pretty cute.
At the end of the day, Adam was fast asleep, and I was about to start the final prayer service, gates closing and all.
“Ars, I’m about to daven Neila, so try not to interrupt me, k?”
“Oh yes, I know all about Neila, in fact, I’m going to say it too. Let me just pick out a siddur…”
He walks over to the book case. “Hmm….Ooh, I’m going to use this one, the biggest, fanciest siddur we have!”
He pulls an enormous Talmud Bavli from the shelf.
“Can you just find me the place for Neila in here?”
I do.
He proceeds to chant Adon Olam, finishes, and smacks the book closed, kissing it and replacing it on the shelf.
“I’m done!” He announces, heading over to where I’m saying shmoneh esrei.
“Oh, you’re still davening,” he notices, lowering his voice to a whisper and patting me on the back.
“I’m taking a break, but I stuck a birth mark in there to save the page for later.”
Why my kids are no longer allowed to watch Sponge Bob
“Mommy, has anyone in our family ever had explosive diarrhea?”
And while we hugged, Adam finally pooped.
Ariel is overtired and dehydrated after a long day, and wants to watch The Suite Life of Zack and Cody on TV. I say no, it’s meant for teenagers, or at least kids a lot older than not-quite-five. He’s furious. He gets that crazy rude and aggressive way about him that comes out every now and then, and starts ordering me around obnoxiously. He’s literally staring me in the eyes and challenging me to a duel of wills, as if we are on the same level, daring me to blink first. I’m prepared this time—I won’t be baited into a shouting match. I won’t let him rile me up into trying to assert my authority, and then watch helplessly as he mimics my behavior.
Instead, I flick off the TV and walk away saying calmly, You may not talk to me like that, and there will be no more TV tonight. He’s yelling things at me as I walk away, but I totally ignore him. He doesn’t apologize, instead marches off to his room where he calms himself down by playing with toys for awhile. Elan’s out at a party and Yoni and I are playing with Adam on our bed, acting like idiots trying to make him giggle in that incredibly contagious five-month-old way. Sensing a good time, Ariel wants in. He climbs on top of Yoni, cooing at Adam. I’m not letting him off that easy—he was really awful earlier. So I calmly ask him to leave, explaining that I am still upset about the way he spoke to me — all is not quite forgotten. He’s not happy to go, but still makes no attempt to reconcile.
A half hour later or so, I’m in the kitchen, feeding Ad his afternoon rice cereal and chatting with Elan, who has arrived home. Ariel is in the family room and dramatically slides the door closed, a door that is always left open, loudly informing Elan it’s because he doesn’t want to have to EVEN LOOK AT MOMMY, he’s so mad. I stay cool, pretend I didn’t hear. After a few minutes, I notice him making strange noises in my direction, peeking through the opening between the two rooms.
I turn to him and say, “Ariel, it seems as if you’re trying to get my attention. Do you want to talk?”
“What’s ‘attention’?” He spits back, rolling his eyes.
“It seems like you want me to look at you and talk to you. To notice you. Is that what you want?”
“Do you want to ‘attention’ me?”
Straight face. Keep a straight face.
“Sure. But are you still acting like you were before? Because I didn’t want to pay attention to behavior like that. It wasn’t any fun.”
“Well…OKAY SORRY. NOW CAN YOU SAY SORRY TO ME?”
“In this case, I think you need to be comfortable apologizing to me without my apologizing to you. I gave you lots of other options of shows to watch and there was really no excuse for acting all scary and mean like that to me. It was disrespectful and it hurt my feelings.”
“FINE WHATEVER I JUST DID.”
“Okay. Apology accepted.”
“Well…”
“Yes?”
He looks at the floor. “Well…can you help?”
“Help what?”
Small voice: “Can you help me – be me?”
Omigod. “What do you mean, honey?”
“Can you help me,” Pause. “…Control my temper?”
I’m a puddle. “Yes. Sure. Of course I’ll help. Why don’t you come in here and give me a hug and we’ll start fresh right now?”
I kneel down on the kitchen floor and he comes flying into my arms, his eyes wet, and stays there awhile. I kiss his hair and he buries his face in my shoulder.
A few minutes later, we still haven’t moved. Elan, slightly weirded out, breaks the silence: “Whoa. You guys are really hugging a long time.”
I say: “I’m not letting go until he does.”
True Success in Branding
Elan is moving around the kitchen, getting his stuff ready for camp and muttering under his breath:
“Vagisil…Bring yourself back.“
Later, I tell Yoni, who says, “Yeah, they’re ALWAYS playing that commercial when I watch Charmed and Angel with the kids between 5 and 7 AM.”
I wait for a second, thinking it’ll sink in on its own. It doesn’t.
“Ok, Yon, what does that tell you about the target audience for those shows??!“
“Shut up.”
Ariel: “Safta hurt her back? How?”
Me: “Not sure. I think she fell? Or maybe from dancing.”
Elan: “She should get Life Alert.”
