Parasol

I was going to title this post, "this is how babies get shaken," and talk about my youngest keeping me up all of last night. But since this blog got dragged elsewhere, and someone was using my lack of sandwich-making prowess as an example of my sub-par parenting, it would probably be best to avoid the shaken-baby angle.

That was a joke people.

For the record, angry readers, I am not unfit to home school because I'm no good at making lunches. I home school _because_ I'm no good at making lunches. I'm also not particularly good at filling out forms printed on coloured paper and adorned with clip-art.

Really though. If you feel that you are more capable of making a dairy-free, nut-free, meat-free, and kosher jam; and if you want me to know that you are therefore a more fit mother than I am, please contact me c/o StealthJew. I will sample your wares and get back to you with a verdict.

An anecdote, to close.

Actual adult: Munchkin, you can't have an umbrella in bed.
Munchkin: It's a parasol.

YM

My house is something of the flophouse of our neighbourhood. Sandwiched between accommodating neighbours and down the block from a large synagogue, we easily attract people, many of whom have an open invitation. Were we in college, ours is the type of house that would always produce wafts of marijuana smoke.

My house itself is in poor condition. I live in a city where the property makes up so much of our value that I await the day that the city deducts money from our assessment for having any structure on our property at all. As far as the city is concerned, I might as well live in a mid-ranged pup tent. My house is managed by a subpar housekeeper (yours truly). But I'm a good cook. So coming to my house gives the visitor that warm, happy feeling of being in the company of people who keep a much messier house than you do, with fairly good food to boot. Additionally, everyone living in my house except for me is a nice person, and good company.

This Shabbes, we had not one, not two, but three young and attractive couples over.


That's the stuff. Anyone feel like taking some quizzes?

I have been married for awhile now, and my husband and I both had the same thought: I am so happy that I am not dating.

When one is married, one learns to take certain good qualities for granted. But having young friends who are just dating reminds the observer that there is an entire world of faults out there, faults that the observer had forgotten existed.

A young lady broke up with the Captain for "inhibiting the positivity of [her] self-worth." Date, and you may end up dating someone who speaks in psychobabble.

Date, and you may end up dating someone who eats octopus or eel and wants to share.

Date, and you may find a vegan, or someone someone who Master Cleanses.

The next man you date may be Casey Serin. The next woman you date may be Aria Star

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Casey Serin, serial fraudster.

A friend of mine is adjusting to a new marriage. They are compatible. They had a long courtship. Nonetheless, I think a certain amount of marriage adjustment just has to be done with teeth gritted and the thought "I could always torch this place and run off to stay at the Hotel 6" in the back of one's mind.

Actually, that last part might just have been me.

American Pie

My husband invited some American ex-pats for the Fourth of July. As the most humane climate in Canada, we have quite a few. i wanted to do something American for the Americans. Fourth of July, yes? So I made iced tea. I found some instructions on the internet.

Apparently it requires tea. But the recipe didn't specify which type of tea, and this gave me some trouble. First I found herbal teas, mint and such. I'm pretty sure that's too hippie fruity for Fourth of July iced tea.

Then I had Earl Grey and English Breakfast and Irish Breakfast. None of those seemed quite appropriate. They're all quite distinct-tasting, so I would think that if the recipe had intended for me to use Earl Grey, it would have specified.

So I found some bags that were unlabeled, and that's what I went with. After all, it may be the correct type of tea, whereas the others were almost certainly not.

I followed the recipe quite carefully. It tasted much too sweet for me. I was brought up drinking tea without sugar, so that may be the thing.

The Americans drank it. This may be a good sign. It may just have been politeness.

I had considered making an apple pie (As American as . . . ), but I've never made a pie and this seemed ambitious.

A second interlude: my daughter attending day camp for the first time. In fact, she's never been in any class, and never attended school. This is not because I am intentionally over-protective. She's five. More that I'm disorganised, and she was a late bloomer, and so on, and so forth. When I worked my children had a nanny. Having her attend an additional programme would be doubling up, since the second and third children followed in rather short order. One thing follows another and now she's five and attending day camp for the Very First Time.

I carefully pored through the parent's manual in search of anything that may have changed since my last day camp experience, which was some 15 years ago. One still labels everything with the child's name. Done. Send a bathing suit? Done. Make a sandwich. I can do this!

Make a sandwich with no meat (kosher reasons) and no nuts of any sort (allergies).

This became rather more complicated.

My daughter is lactose intolerant.

I made jam. Munchkin was pleased by a food that is sweet, strawberry-flavoured, pink, and devoid of nutritional value. All appeared to be going well.

She enjoyed day camp, but does not wish to attend tomorrow, as she said she was kept busy all day.

She also says that she slept poorly because her father and I kept waking her. I remember this. I woke her up to go to the bathroom. I woke her up because she was hungry. I woke her because her invisible friend told her something and I just had to hear about it.

Oh no, wait. That was all her, wasn't it? Well I can see why she was confused.