September 2005

The teenage years are upon us. It seems as if in the last 12 months, at least three of our children became teenagers. What wonderful material for parent support groups sessions and for family newsletters! Does every parent ask him or herself “Was I like that when I was 15”? There are those who would say that for the last 20 years I have been swallowing a daily dose of denial and slurping a suppression suspension, because, as far as I remember, my passage from 12 to 22 was smooth; the greatest aggravation I caused my parents was a refusal to practice my guitar with sufficient frequency. Neither of my parents are in a position any more to set the record straight on that, but no doubt some readers remember my rebellious years differently.

Many children are blessed with stoic, forgetful and forgiving parents who navigate these troubled years with patience, restraint and silence. My poor kids got dumped with a father who gets a kick out of documenting his children’s antics and publishing them across the Net. Poor suckers. The following is some of what’s been happening over the summer holidays.

Teenage Years - Hair raising times
Let’s start with hair. Since they emerged from the womb, my boys never gave their hair the time of day; it was rarely washed and never brushed. Today the boys compete with the girls in hours spent in front of the mirror, number of hairbrushes in their possession, and hair-brushing frequency. Their short back and sides styles have been replaced with shaggy dog dreadlocks. Naphtali recently attended a barmitzva where his mop of hair shocked school friends whom he hadn’t seen him since July. Next day, he went to the barber.

Teenage Years - Investments in vestments
Then we have the issue of clothes. Since their babygrow years, the boys never noticed what they wore, whether it was old or new, tattered or torn. Clothes were removed only for swimming (or showering, if forced to). When we would send them to pack clothes for a week’s camping, they would come downstairs, task completed with little more than a change of socks. Thanks to their maternal grandmother, my children have no shortage of new and beautiful clothes, yet in the last few months the boys have taken to shopping for their own clothes. Naphtali even ironed a shirt for himself once. I can handle boys bickering, babbling, squabbling and cackling. I can’t handle boys ironing.

Teenage Years - Absentee children
Over this summer holiday, our house has served Ari and Elon as an excellent springboard for extra-domicile activities. At 4pm one day, Ari might roll out of bed, meander downstairs and inform us with a yawn that he’s going out with some friends, only to return three days later having spent all night at the beach, and the following two or three days wandering from city to city staying with friends in various locales. Elon is the same. The boys are actually very good; they call us the whole time and let us know where they are where they’re going. But if they didn’t, and we needed to look for them, we’d just pitch up at the beach at Herzliya. Somehow all their travels at some stage involve a visit to Herzliya beach for surfing.

Ari finds his roots
Ari has just returned from a brief holiday in England and Scotland, together with the Obermans. I am delighted to say that he seems to have fully appreciated the beauty of the Lake District, the green-ness of the grass, the views, the scenery, the hills. The space, the distance, the serenity there calm the soul. My one issue with him is that he thinks England is prettier than Scotland – ignorant fool.

Elon the Midrashist
Friday was one of the finest days in Elon’s life; on Friday he officially started the Midrashiya and became a ‘midrashist’. Elon has wanted nothing else for the last six months than to go to the Midrashiya – a yeshiva high-school with what I would call curious educational traditions. Uncharacteristically, I am going to reserve judgment on this school, till we’ve seen what it’s like.

Naphtali the Nurturer
As mentioned in the last newsletter, Naphtali is a wonderful carer for his younger sisters. He is the first to volunteer to hold Abigail or the baby, and can play with either for hours at a time. Holding his younger sisters, Naphtali simply glows

Orly
TBD

Abigail
Judy has recently taken to walking round the yishuv, pushing Elisheva in her buggy.

Elisheva - Daddy’s girl for a day
It was one of the most wonderful times of my life. Judy had been working hard all semester, teaching five days a week, early mornings and late evenings. In Judy’s absence, baby-sitters, especially a doting Boobie Barbara (Judy’s Mum), tended to Elisheva (now 10 months). Then, one day, quite unexpectedly, after many weeks of reduced volumes of quality hours with her Mum, Elisheva decided she preferred her Daddy. (He may be irritable and grumpy, but at least he hadn’t cut back, inexplicably and unjustifiably, on his hours at home). Elisheva wanted only Daddy - to hold, feed and (yes,) change her. I reveled in the attention my 7-month old showered on me. Two weeks later, the university semester ended. Judy was at home all day. Elisheva twigged that Mum was back to stay and transferred her prime allegiance back to where it belongs, to her mother. My fortnight in the limelight was history. Do not think for one second that my spirits fell. To know that, after six babies, for two weeks one of them wanted me, preferred me, fills me, till today with a joy I never expected to know.

Lots of love

Michael, Judy,
Ari, Elon, Naphtali, Orly, Abigail and Elisheva Isaacs