Friday, October 7, 2016

Back to the egg

Our vacation was so right - crisp mountain air! Two months or so - and some of it in Paris. It was so right that the realness of it all was never worth any of itself in pictures. I thought of so many photo opportunities, kids, adventures, misadventures, landscapes, colors, photogenic avenues, caf├ęs, cute silverware, - but all that has been consumed by us, what's the use posting it? I look at blogs, and wonder if they are just short sighted show-off to people homebound. Why would anyone - me - show off picturesque things with my kiddies in them?
I did snap pictures, meaningful ones, and put them on a blog that is invisible to search engines, and to people outside of our family.
I am back on our kibbutz and wonder why would I photograph rows of flowers, neighbors pretty chickens, a basket of eggs, my lingerie on the clothes line?
Except, I find myself being thrust into the life of the kibbutz, and into its rotational duties. Soon I will have some form of responsibility for taking care of egg laying chickens here. I think this duty has been assigned to women with kids. Probably because we have understood the mothering side of the task. I am planning to wear lingerie while collecting eggs. The theme of eggs - just always rotates around me. That's how it meshes together.

Friday, July 15, 2016

Titanically Tortuous Tribal Thoughts

As I keep growing - and not just maturing into a babysitter-looking MILF - I find myself agreeing with age-old biases, because - I am finding them to be right.
I'm only wookin' back at my marriages.
A worldly Euro frum girl should be strong and NOT marry a super -studious rabbi-aspirant who lets it go to his head and -think that he's holy.
After divorcing the self-made holy man, the same Euro frum girl should not marry a rich Sephardi born-again fanatic who expects everyone to respect him and listen - to his holy intuition!
And having kids from both of them, not to listen to rabbinical advice, and just think of the ex hubbies as sperm-donating clowns, and now it is up to the Euro girl to fashion the progeny with the best interpersonal manners!
Maybe because I've been so busy analyzing myself - I am still stuck in the babysitter look, - and what's more bizarre - I can't say exactly how many children I've had. Nathaniel is the one I got back as a donated egg. His father is so non-fatherly on the outside, that he is actually is the coolest father-image. And he does not pretend to be anyone. More like an indigent widower, a religious Jack Reacher in raggedy clothes. How could I have had a kid with him? - I ask myself. Then I remembah - the egg donation, a Petri dish, a test tube, etc etc .
Then comes my husband, poor guy, because he also does not remember - who's kid is who's? After helping with the custody battle - all of them are his?
So that's why I'm having panic attacks the minute I wake up - hey, where are all of my kids? Which one is flying to Amsterdam to visit my sister? I have to air express the twins French health insurance paperwork. And they don't sell Chevy Suburbans in Israel. And our apartment in Paris is rented out till after October.
I'm in a wild goose chase with this summer.