learning to be content in the humdrum life

It's always bemused me that Moses didn't adopt the mantle of leading Israel until he's 80, and that half of his life before then was spent shepherding sheep in the backside of the desert. Sounds...awful. It builds character, I guess. I fear that my faith is not so strong. :(

There's a Cafemom article floating around about "the mommy gene" -- how some women (or even men) were born and grow up with a sense that they are destined to be parents. They're drawn to little kids and babies and play house and are just naturally nurturing. If this article is true, then I'm definitely devoid of such a gene. I never liked to play house; The closest equivalent I can think of is the incorporation of what my brother and I learned in our social studies/history and government classes as well as watching the news into our playtime -- my stuffed animals printed their own currency and drafted Constitutions and peace treaties with my brother's stuffed animals. As for dolls, I've always found them a bit creepy, given my interest in ghost stories and their common theme of doll possessions.

So. Taking care of children, even my own son, often feel like drudgery. Admittedly, I get along well with children, namely because I strive to respect them just as much as I respect adults. I think children appreciate that, and it's something (I've come to realize) that not all adults do unto them.  But I think, just as it is with my adult interactions, I like the company of children--or really, any living thing--in small doses. I suppose it's from the habit of growing up alone; moving every year meant I never hung out regularly with any long-term childhood friends, and books were my constant solace apart from my very shy and introverted brother.  I kind of resent still being affected by the childhood I so want to leave behind but... there it is.  And, as awful as it might sound, staying at home, doing household chores and being constantly loving, patient, and attentive to my son--day in, day out, all by myself with no other mother friends or just really good friends in general for company--feels a little bit like shepherding sheep in the backside of the desert. I suppose I should think on the bright side that it probably won't take 40 years for my son (and daughter, later) to become responsible adults of their own.

I looked up airline tickets to Pittsburgh yesterday, wishing that I could spent most of October there when the weather is most pleasant in Pittsburgh and still A/C-necessary hot in Haifa. I really don't know why I'm so very homesick for Pittsburgh. This didn't happen last year when I was in China. Maybe it's because Pittsburgh was where I spent all of my pregnancy with Declan, and I feel secure and confident in my experience there. Maybe it's a part of the nesting instinct. Who knows. But I often think wistfully of the falling leaves and cool weather there, the many friends that I wish I spent more time with, the fall recipes I could make without wanting to burst into tears deciphering unfamiliar letters... I'm going to try an experiment for this coming month--of imagining what I would be doing in Pittsburgh if I were in fact there at this current time, and then try my best to replicate/make possible whatever activity that might be here in Haifa.

As kind of a prelude to that, I bought a bunch of typical fall produce for a dinner with friends last Thursday. Things like butternut squash, which I've always found a little intimidating to break down. Then, today, with the leftovers of the squash, sweet potatoes, carrots from the lemon-garlic chicken dish I made up, I experimented with making latkes comprising of such root vegetables rather than the usual potatoes. Daniel, Declan, and I ate the resulting latkes with spreadable cheese that tastes kind of sour onion-y. It was a nice blend of tangy and savory -- success! One of Daniel's co-workers might be stopping by later to drop off a batch of tahini oil that she made, so I've saved the remaining batter to fry up for her when she comes.

Little things like this do give me a great deal of satisfaction. To be able to be creative with food and feed my family and friends healthful things.  We've also found, via an Anglo-walk event, a stretch of path called the Louis Promenade (which I've mentioned before) that's a really pleasant route by which to take nightly walks. It's also been a good place to interact with local young families, as Declan would initiate play with other kids around his age that are also walking along the Promenade. Usually that results in Daniel striking up a conversation with the other child(ren)'s parent(s).

Maybe that's how most people stay happy through the humdrum life of the day-to-day. Things like the above to truly appreciate and be thankful for. I don't know what else I'm expecting life to be.  Maybe more people to share it with...? I really don't know.

Declan shrieking in delight at goats eating the bread he offered (in Cortina, Italy)

on food and yom kippur...and a little bit about homesickness

Tonight, I made capellini and we ate it with leftover meat sauce that I had frozen before our Italy trip. This is a nice break from the past two days of PBJ sandwiches, made necessary because our gas stove stopped working. Given that Yom Kippur was to start upon sundown tonight, Daniel was a bit frantic in getting the stove fixed. Otherwise, we would have to eat more sandwiches and other cooking-not-needed sustenance around the apartment for the next two days while all businesses shut down for the Day of Atonement. Having subscribed to several Jewish mothering blogs, I've been inundated with the topic of fasting while pregnant and/or nursing. As interesting as it sounds, this makes me so glad I'm not Jewish and therefore don't have to feel guilty about not fasting.

When we were in Italy, it was literally either pizza or some kind of pasta at every meal. Some of my American friends are extolling the virtues of the Paleo diet right now, and I was mildly amused by their potential horror at how we (and a typical Cortina resident) eat.  I thought I might get tired of eating pizza or tagliatelle or risotto or polenta with funghi... but instead I felt myself getting hooked. When we flew back to Israel, it was around 3am in Tel Aviv and the trains going north to Haifa had stopped running for Shabbot. We stayed at our friend Mark's Tel Aviv apartment instead and hung out for a day with him. Lunch at a nearby park was roast beef sandwich...and ravioli. (I had the sweetest yet savory beet ravioli during a late Italian dinner with the wedding party one night, and I now need to hunt down recipes for how to make homemade ravioli.)  Dinner was mushroom and roasted pepper pizza at a corner cafe.  Next to Chinese food, Italian food may be my favorite cuisine for how simple yet tasty it is. I still have not fulfilled my desire to try osso bucco, but I've eaten so much on the trip, that can wait. Cortina's carb-loaded dishes are usually tempered with porcini or speck/prosciutto or venison. Venice, being on top of the waters, has a lot of seafood. The latter is pricier, and not necessarily as flavorful. Daniel was disdainful of the pizza quality in Venice compared to the ones he had in Cortina, and I only had a few bites of a Venetian specialty -- spaghetti in cuttlefish ink -- before I chalked it up to an interesting meal I'd never order again.

As for our gas situation, the gas company came by this morning and--as our dinner contests--we can now cook hot meals again. According to the company, each gas installment should last six months, so it appears that somebody has been stealing our cooking gas. What an odd and petty thing to commit a crime about, especially when cooking gas doesn't cost that much. Time to buy a lock for the gas box.

As Yom Kippur begins tonight, Daniel, Declan, and I went for an after-dinner walk along the Louis Promenade by Dan Panorama. There were bikers everywhere and young children out in droves. Given Mark's detailing about how there won't be any cars on the streets or any businesses open, I had imagined a very quiet two days--like when the North American Eastern seaboard got its power knocked out in the year 2000-something (when I was still studying at UM), and everybody walked around through the eerily quiet dark streets with flashlights.  So far it's not been like that at all--In fact, we had to shut the bedroom window because of all the sounds the kids are making while playing or biking on our street.  Otherwise, Declan would never go to bed tonight.  Jewish parenting is....really interesting :/ I might elaborate on this topic some other time.

It's been kind of painful going on Facebook and seeing pictures of sweater weather in Pittsburgh right now. I'm actually, for the first time ever in my entire life, homesick for the U.S. Specifically Pittsburgh in the fall. Walking through the falling golden leaves in Frick Park. Wearing a light wrap on top of my summer clothes. Breaking out the crockpot or roasting fall vegetables. And, most of all, hanging out with friends at night over Settlers or new episodes of How I Met Your Mother. Now is the time when I keep wondering why I'm hot/awkward/illiterate and lonely in Haifa instead of in familiar Pittsburgh and close to friends. Am I really that much needed here?

Declan enjoying his first-ever ride on the Carmelit, Israel's one and only subway

finally home

In some ways, I felt more at home in Italy than I did/do in Israel. In the 10-11 days my little family was in Italy, I've started picking up on convenient, daily Italian phrases and could order off the Italian menu with just some guessing stabs a la knowledge of some Romance language roots. Then we fly back and it's once again utter, frustrating incomprehension at Hebrew letters on the signs everywhere.

Still, it's nice to be back in one's own apartment. Tomorrow, Daniel returns to math research and job applications for next year. I with Declan in tow shall unpack, clean the house, go grocery-shopping, and maybe babysit for someone who's moving away from Haifa just when we've met (sad!), and maybe catch the bus to the mall to pick up my finally-repaired laptop. If this very last step is met with success, I plan to organize some vacation pictures while Declan watches VeggieTales split-screen style on said laptop.

It's pretty late now, so I shan't go into details about the trip we just returned from. But I will, later, and perhaps recount things by contrasting Cortina D'Ampezzo with Venice, the two cities we spent time in whilst in Italy--and how the first city totally kicked the second city's ass in awesomeness.

For now, it's back to sweaty, hilly Haifa. And I just remembered I also need to start searching in earnest for a midwife/doula/birth facility in preparation of my daughter's birth.

quel prenatal care

I was initially quite excited to meet the ob-gyn with whom our Israeli health insurance booked an appointment. I remembered looking at the calendar at the start of this month and thinking, ah, about nine days to go before I get an inkling into the prenatal care system of another country. I know that the U.S.'s highly medicalized approach to what I see as a very natural part of the female body is not a desirable form of prenatal and delivery care for me and my child, personally, and I'm curious to see how it is in Israel.

So... in addition to the practices I've seen in China, Taiwan, and now Israel, I am forming a general rule of thumb: the medical practice and low-risk pregnancies just don't mix. Look, I'm not sick, I'm just pregnant. But the medical establishment, especially of the Western persuasion, is all about watching out for the worst-case scenario and preventing that from happening. I am thankful for that, but I'm a very healthy woman who've proved with my first pregnancy and delivery that I'm fairly low-risk, child-bearing wise. So why am I constantly subjected to an ultrasound and a blood draw in addition to other things during every prenatal visit? Why do I have to keep saying no to amniocentesis or testing for Down's Syndrome? I don't plan to abort the child no matter what, so just leave me alone, ok?

It's all the more demoralizing and disappointing because I had a midwife during my pregnancy with Declan (up until week 30, when he suddenly folded up his practice due to family emergency and I started learning firsthand about the hospital approach), and it was so much better. Really. I got one ultrasound and one blood draw. ONCE. During the whole pregnancy, and that's all I needed. The rest of the time, the midwife measured the baby's growth with his hands and I heard the heartbeat with the doppler. So much less intrusive, so much more....reassuring and confidence-building. The medical system makes a pregnant woman really unsure about herself, even scared, so that by the time of delivery, I wouldn't be surprised if it's got them broken in like circus horses. I remembered arguing with three different nurses on three different occasions while I was in active labor with Declan in order for them to desist from their plan to putting a hep-lock in me. They painted scenarios to persuade me that would have cowed me into submission if I weren't a doctor's daughter who's aware of the possibilities of those situations actually happening. And this was at a hospital that's rated among the top 10 in the nation for women (and which I do agree deserves this standing!).

So... sigh. I skipped the improv gathering last-minutedly tonight because I'm just too down to see other people. I started crying as Daniel and I left the ob-gyn office because Daniel said he knows how badly I feel...and that made me really angry to boot because no man should ever claim he understands how a pregnant woman--who's now afraid and unsure about how she's going to deliver safely in the way that she desires and protect her newborn from unnecessary medical intervention--actually feels.

And I still have to scout out hospitals in which to deliver and attend the tours which would most likely be in all Hebrew. Joy. I hate not being able to have a say about what is being done to my body.

Addendum: Just received an email from a friend of one of Daniel's colleagues that I made dinner for last Thursday night. Wow, I'm so touched that Daniel's colleague actually wrote her friend about my apprehensions about birthing in Israel, and that her friend actually got on the ball and supplied me with a whole slew of resources. I feel a lot more hopeful again, and am greatly amused by some of her observations via her own prenatal experience here:

In my experience the prenatal care here is heavy on the testing, light on the actual "care" and overly dramatic about anything outside of the norm.  Generally, at each appointment they do an ultrasound, ask you if you're taking your iron, and send you for whatever tests they like to perform at that time.  We did not do any extra tests except for the weekly sonograms which were mostly to check my cervix and not the baby.  They think you're crazy for turning down a test, but if you say no a couple times they get over it.  Israel has a strange way of thinking about "perfect babies" and is quick to suggest termination for the slightly problem.  Most doctors do not weigh you or check fundal height or anything like that.  If you want to have your weight and blood pressure checked that takes place at the Tipat Chalav clinic which happens to be very close to where you live.  Personally, if you feel in control of your pregnancy and feel like you can stand up for what you do and don't need, just find a doctor that has good hours and a good location. Almost every doctor here will speak some level of English because of the nature of the field. 

a funny mental snapshot i keep giggling over

Today was/is a family friend's birthday, and his wife so very kindly invited us to join the little birthday gathering she organized with two other friends from Tel Aviv plus one of the friend's brother who's visiting from the States.  My little family shared a car ride with Kirsten and Or (the birthday man) to their church in Netanya in the morning. After a potluck lunch (for which I invented a baked lemon-marinated tilapia garnished with sauteed garlic, green onions, and different colored peppers I got from the shuk the day before), we rode the car together with them again to a man-made fishing lake called Dag Bakfar. There, we met up with Mark, Alex (the brother), and Rachel--who is about 34 weeks pregnant, and got to fishing.

We didn't end up catching anything, although we saw other people catch some big ones a couple of times. Someone gave Or a live fish, but he released it back into the lake as he wanted to catch one for himself. Declan spent the afternoon chucking pebbles into the lake as he stood next to me, effectively scaring away any fish that I might hope to catch.  The fishing place closed around 6pm, and we wrapped up the day with a dinner together at this burger place that had some really fantastic burgers. Meat is so much more expensive here in Israel that Daniel and I have been eating mostly vegetables for the meals I make at home, so it was a real splurge to chow down on a thick lamb burger.  I still need to be on a lookout for a birthday present for Or though, and hopefully one for Kirsten as well, as I think she mentioned her birthday (Oct 15?) in passing once during a story about her annual visa renewal process.  Maybe presents from Italy?

Now I'm listening to Jason Mraz on grooveshark, because the burger place played old American pop hits that were a mixture of Daniel's and my favorites and made me nostalgic for music I used to listen to all the time.

But the funniest memory of the day, besides Declan sitting by Or along the lake and waiting together for a fish to bite, besides Declan clinging onto Mark's back during dinnertime and rocking to the music, besides Declan being the shortest little person racing along with three other bigger kids at church this morning, was how during lunchtime, I had offered Declan one last bite of mashed potato. He had just gotten off my lap and was about to run off to search for the 2.5 yo girl that he was holding hands with on and off. I held out the mash-ladened fork out to him. He said, "No!" once. I offered again. He said, "No!" again, this time taking a step towards me while shoving an open palm as if to push my fork away across the space between us. I offered one last time. This time, he suddenly stopped, smiled, and jogged back to stuff in his mouth the content on my fork before he raced off. Kirsten and Or said Declan's starting to act like a real Israeli already. Apparently, people here tend to say no to every question the first one or two times around, and it's important to persist.  Something of a challenge for my live-and-let-live attitude, but I'm learning to be pushier since living in China...and being married to Daniel, who tends to have a more overpowering personality than I naturally do.

Just that, "no"...."no"...and then sudden change in demeanor. What a funny little guy. I hope and pray that my son and I will always have a good relationship with each other.

last rant about being illiterate

I really wish that I had been more studious about learning Hebrew before we came to Israel. I keep saying and thinking this thought that it's getting a bit boring, so this shall be the last time. Now that I'm here, and discovering that the daily circles I interact with (mostly working-class) aren't that keen on English, I've been asking random Anglos who've lived here for a while where I might be able to learn Hebrew, either by getting a tutor (expensive) or signing up for an ulpan class. Sadly, the expensive factor of a private tutor is a bit of a hindrance--Daniel doesn't get paid that much to be a post-doc and we're already stretching our budget by renting out a three-bedroom apartment, and another baby on the way when we have given away or were unable to bring most of our saved baby items. Plus, in Israel, even renters need to pay property tax for the property in which they currently reside. As for the ulpan class, those are mainly reserved for people who're actually making aliyah. I could register or audit a Hebrew course at the Technion, but that doesn't start until winter term, which means I would most likely have to drop out midway through to give birth and care for a newborn plus a two-year-old.

My illiteracy makes grocery shopping, trying to find the library, trying to find books or events provided by the library and/or the city, traveling around by bus, looking up bus routes, finding essential ingredients for recipes... all very overwhelming.  I really hope that, despite this major language barrier, the resourcefulness my dad claims I have a strong reservoir of will in fact assert itself and help me, by the grace of God, to eventually make an okay life here.  For now, I feel very much alone and struggling to stay afloat. It's not as bad as China, because the fresh fruits and vegetables here--the essentials of life, especially while raising children--are abundant here. Yesterday, Declan and I rode the Carmelit (Israel's sole subway system) and found a small produce/fruit store at Paris Square (after much walking around and searching in the noon day heat). Today, I finally made it to the Talplot shuk via bus number 37 and then bus number 3. It reminded me of the traditional markets my grandmother and mother took me along during their weekly grocery shoppings in Taipei and Kaohsiung. A bit chaotic, messy, and loud...just the way I remembered it as a child.

It really is much better shopping for better quality and more affordable produce and fruit at the shuk than at the usual Western-style grocery stores here. Daniel and I invested in a dolly for 50 shekels for future shuk visits. Still, I've been itching to bake so Declan can eat healthier cookies, etc, but I don't know how to decipher between the various differently powders with Hebrew labels or ask for, say, vanilla extract. I don't think my friends back in the States understand this demoralizing climate of cluelessness... One of my Pittsburgh friends suggested, in response to my doubt about how to secure such ingredients, that I make my own extract. Well, yes... except now I need to ask for vanilla bean and vodka instead. In Hebrew. Still clueless, and even more bizarre to the supermarket people.  I'm going to make an ingredient list, google translate it, and copy the info down with my atrocious Hebrew handwriting, then make the best of it at the store next week.

Or rather next next week, when we return from Italy. I'm going there this coming Tuesday for a wedding, and I cannot express how much I'm looking forward to not being alone all day with a child during the weekdays, seeing friends, and feeling cool weather. I vow never to complain about the cold ever again, as it is still really hot where I live. Before flying to Italy, our little family needs to traipse downtown to change our visa status so that we're allowed to return to Israel and my first prenatal checkup in Israel is also coming up.

an extrovert after all

This past weekend has been one of the best couple of days (despite the occasional breakdowns, per usual, of my feeling overwhelmed by trying to navigate the bus company and library websites without understanding Hebrew). I realized, with a spark of surprise, that it's because I got to hang out with friendly people. Not necessarily Americans, but Anglos who've lived all around the world as well so I didn't experience the usual language or cultural barriers.  Friday Shabbat dinner consisted of cooking for two hours, catching an hour-long car ride with our friends Kirsten and Or to the Messianic congregation they attend, and spending the next three hours sharing food, conversation, and play (in Declan's case) with really welcoming people. In Declan's case especially, he had a thrill following a couple of big kids around. I worry sometimes that he doesn't socialize enough with other kids, and he definitely had a good time at Shabbat dinner. The food I made turned out well, despite my using some unfamiliar spices found in the pantry, so that also made me really glad.

Then on Sunday night (yesterday), I ventured to Gan Ha'em around 8pm to meet the improv group that just started in Haifa, as a copy of the one that meets regularly in Tel Aviv. Feeling pregnant and fat and tired, I kind of wanted to stay home and be lonely as usual, but Daniel encouraged me by walking to the meeting place with me. It turned out that the four other people who showed up were waiting for me at the park benches, so it's a good thing I showed up, even if I was 20 minutes late. Improv turned out to be a refreshing challenge, and we stood around and chatted for half an hour more after the two-hour session ended. Everyone came from such diverse backgrounds! This may be the biggest plus to living in Israel, for me: meeting people from all over because of the international emphasis in this small country that's surrounded by enemies. Kind of like why Taiwan's such a mix of foreign influences as well.

The thing is, it wasn't just being in China or Israel that had made me increasingly depressed for the last two years... It was more because as I got pregnant and stopped official work, and then needing to stay home a lot more to care for the baby.... I became more and more estranged from people I usually hang out with, and being cloistered frankly sucks. Moving to four different regions in the world within a year's span didn't help the situation either.

Now that Declan's more and more able to be cared for by not just me, I've had a little more freedom and can make more of an effort to, basically, rejoin human society, I'm trying to put out of my head the worries of needing to go through such a lonely time again when the second baby comes.