Purim Shpiel

We're celebrating Purim this week, a Jewish holiday filled with storytelling, masquerade and drunken antics. It celebrates the story of Queen Esther, a Jewish girl in Persia who was chosen to be Queen and single-handedly saved the Jews by telling King Ahashverosh that his Prime Minister, Haman, was planning to kill them all. There's a lot more to the story but it shares a similar plot to most all Jewish festivals.

1. They tried to kill us. 
2. We won. 
3. Let's eat a lot of food. 

Customs include making hamantaschen - three cornered cookies to symbolize the bad prime minister's hat (or his Spock-like ears) - making a lot of noise every time his name is mentioned in the ritual reading of the story, dressing up as a character from the story or as anything you like and giving baskets of treats and goodies. And adults are commanded to get so drunk they cannot tell the difference between King Ahashverosh and Haman. That's pretty friggin drunk.

Purim was never my favorite holiday for many of the same reasons that I never liked Halloween. I was embarrassed to dress up. I worried that other kids would laugh at me. I never liked my home-made costumes. And having to do this twice a year instead of just on Halloween made it all the more painful. Mr. Rosen felt exactly the same way growing up in Israel, though he was spared the extra torture of Halloween.

And that is why I was especially proud of my son yesterday because yesterday morning, last minute and possibly against my better judgment, I signed him up to go to a Purim workshop at an Israeli woman's house in the next town over where they would hear the story of Purim, make hamantaschen and goody parcels, play games, sing songs, all while parading around in costume. And mostly with kids he doesn't know. And no parents. And all in Hebrew, which he doesn't always understand. When I told him after school that he and his friend were going to this party and that he could dress up, he was nervous. What if the other kids laugh at me? You see, he was having second thoughts about his costume, one he'd been planning since Halloween. He wanted to dress up as Miss Viola Swamp from the book Miss Nelson is Missing.

Miss Viola Swamp is the alter ego of Miss Nelson, a school teacher who can't command the respect of her students. One day she comes to school dressed as her own substitute, Miss Viola Swamp, an ugly, mean witch who is so terrifying that the kids will do anything, even behave, to get Miss Nelson back. Excellent book. The costume is a big black wig and a giant nose and black fingernails and striped tights and a black dress. Yesterday we bought all of those things, except for the dress. Instead we belted one of Mr. Rosen's black tee-shirts. My son was delighted with his costume but he was concerned (his word) about how other kids would react. He asked me what I would do if I were him.

This is where I lied because if I were him I would have just worn the lion costume from Halloween. But instead I told him straight up that I would be Miss Viola Swamp if that's who I really wanted to be and as long as I was happy with that decision, then no one else would care. And that's what he did. Amidst a sea of pirates, Iron Men, Bat Men, Skeletors and Buzz Light Years was my son, Miss Viola Swamp, dressed in yellow and black striped tights and a belted black tee-shirt. And either no one said a word or he was too happy to notice. Either way, despite a genetic predisposition for hating costume holidays, we might just have a kid who loves Purim. And himself.

Halloween 2009

I have never been a fan of Halloween. I think I've probably mentioned this before. I don't like being in costume unless I'm in a play and it's a really kick ass costume that some professional made for me. I don't like being scared. I don't like horror movies. I don't even like commercials for horror movies. I once had nightmares for about a month when I heard about the Blair Witch Project. I never even saw it. I just heard about it. And in Judaism there's another holiday where you dress up, Purim, and I hate that one too. And I'm convinced there are two kinds of people in this world - the kind who love Halloween/Purim and the ind who hate it. My theory stops there pretty much since I do have friends who are in the love category. We've just come to accept each other.

The holiday has become a little less annoying now that I have kids and get to dress them up. But the lead up to Halloween is stressful. My son went back and forth ten times between wanting to be a broiler and wanting to be a shark. He went as a shark in the end and was quite happy with his costume which my husband sewed for him yesterday. And my daughter. Well even though no one knew who she was except our neighbor Claudia, she looked positively AMAZING as the incomparable Frida Kahlo. The likeness is uncanny. With a little help from an eyebrow pencil...

And where it used to be that the only redeeming quality about Halloween was the candy, it is now that the thing that bugs me the most. True, I could give out pencils or glow bracelets or fruit. But I don't. I give out candy. And I give it to the pre-diabetic 150 pound third graders too. And then I have to deal with my own kids who want to eat a bag full of it until they throw up. So I gave them each a few pieces and put their bags away. This morning they wanted their bags and, based on some good advice from Courtney and Whitney over at Rookie Moms, I made them each pick five pieces to keep and the rest gets traded in for a toy. I have a stock pile of small toys in the attic for precisely this kind of bartering.

And now the Halloween 2009 round up.

Broiler Man

Every week we get closer to the ideal weekday afternoon. My issue lately is less about occupying my son and more about getting my daughter down to nap early enough so she wakes up early enough that she can then fall back asleep at 8:00. This is no small feat. This is also not what I'm writing about today.

My son is slowly coming to terms with my request that he engage in thirty minutes of unstructured free play while I get some work done. He is not that good at this when it's being asked of him. He is great at this when he should be getting ready for school. So we're working on a schedule that feels right to him. A few minutes for a snack together. Half an hour for a game or puzzle. Half an hour of free time. Hour project (cooking dinner or baking a dessert, gardening, art project, watching a movie...). By then my daughter is awake and they can entertain each other for the remainder of the day.

Yesterday we tried out free time and after playing with a toy for about thirty seconds he asked if he could use the phone. I have come to terms with his interest in phones so I allow him to call a few people. First he calls his dad and they have a lovely chat. Then he calls his grandma and tells her about school and this and that. Then he calls our friend Heidi. And finally my Aunt Marcia.

Among other things, my son is obsessed with Aunt Marcia. Now I would understand if he had spent any significant amount of time with her because she's terrific. But he has spent maybe seven hours total of his whole life with this woman (she lives in New York). At some point early on she let him use her red Motorola phone and that was it. He now only has eyes for Aunt Marcia and her phone (which is now a pink Samsung - even better).

So he calls her and I overhear this part of the conversation.

Guess what I'm going to be for Halloween.
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A broiler!
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A broiler!
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I said, a broiler! Like the bottom of the oven!
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Where you put the food that you want to burn because there's fire there? And you pull out the bottom part and put something in like a vegetable and then it gets burned and Aba peels off the skin? A broiler.
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Yes.
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Well, I don't know where I can buy a broiler costume, but my mommy can make it. She can sew.
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If she can't make it then I'm going to be a shark.

At some point last week he became interested in the broiler and has asked several times to watch when we turn it on so that he can see the flame light up. It has completely captured his imagination. And while I would love for him to just wave his crazy flag and stroll around the neighborhood as a broiler for Halloween, I really can't figure out how to make that come together. I mean, I'm taking a sewing class, not a welding class. It does sort of sound like a Batman rival. The Broiler! Mwah ha ha ha....I'm so trademarking that.

Gender Bender

My son loves earrings. And purses, And wearing princess slippers. He likes wearing barrettes in his hair. Oh and nail polish. He loves to wear nail polish. And I let him do all these things because I can see that it makes him happy. And at the same time I'm very attuned to the language I use surrounding these things. I never say stuff like princess slippers are only for girls. Or that boys don't paint their nails. Or carry gold purses with a cameo of Sleeping Beauty on the side (yes, that's what he picked out with my Disney Store credit). He is who he is so I just let him do his thing. When he plays in the front yard in his Thomas underwear and platform shoes we sometimes get stares, but he doesn't notice and I prefer it like that for now.

A while back I bought him a pair of red clip-on earrings because he was forever bugging me about wanting a pair of earrings. And he just about died when he saw them. But the clip comes off the plastic earring so I end up having to glue them about once a month. And he only wears them a few days a month but today was the day he really REALLY wanted to wear them and he just would not stop bugging me about it. Mommy, can you get the glue gun? Mommy I want you to glue my earrings. Mommy, I have the earring - can you get the clippy part? Mommy the glue gun is ready. Mommy. Mommy. Mommy. And before that he'd been bugging me about wanting to drive in my car and could he please call grandma on my phone and he needs a new coat of nail polish. I just about snapped. And I came to understand that it's less about him wanting to act like a woman and more about him wanting to act like a grown-up. I know it's pretend and it's healthy. I know all that. But at a certain point it's just enough. Act like a goddamn kid. Do kid things. I know that dress up is a kid thing but do it with your dress up toy jewelry, not my jewelry. And wear your damn princess slippers and not my work shoes. So I told him as much. Enough. You need to play with your own stuff. With kid stuff. Play with toys. Trucks. Dolls. Princess make-up. I don't care - just be a kid. Because being an adult actually sucks. You have to work. You have to clean the house and pay bills and buy groceries and mow the lawn. Sometimes you have to refinance. And watch what you eat. And dye your hair. So enjoy being a kid! You can run around naked and no one cares. You can sing songs all day long and everyone claps for you when you pee in a toilet and for the love of ginger you could bounce a quarter off your tushy. What I wouldn't give for a tushy like that! Okay maybe the last part of the speech was in my head.

He listened and stopped bugging me for a short while. And I did get around to gluing his earrings which made him endlessly happy. And even happier later when we were at his pal Aidan's birthday party and he saw her dad wearing earrings.

Him: Look Aidan's daddy's a boy and he wears earrings with holes in his ears.

Me: No, Aidan's dad is a grown-up and he wears pierced earrings. And when you're a grown-up you can too.

With all the excitement he let some pee pee escape. So I took him to the bathroom to finish what he started. Indeed his undies were a little wet. Can I just go commando? That's my boy.