Mountain Momma Musings

It must be the altitude

Can you make those jeans a venti? And hold the whip cream February 6, 2010

Filed under: Mommahood — mountainmommamusings @ 10:38 am
Tags: , , ,

Lately I’ve been worried that I don’t have anything to write about. Nothing funny seemed to be happening in my life. There were a few minor things, like the night I woke up in a cold sweat because I dreamt I delivered twins. I don’t know which was worse, the fact that now I had four kids or that my husband named them Darren and Carmen without asking me my opinion.

And of course, my collared kitty has provided me with some comical material, but lately it’s been mostly her throwing up on the carpet and everyone in my family walking by it or over it until I clean it up. That’s really not that funny.

Thank god for public bathrooms. My kids + public toilets always = comedy.

Yesterday, while Siigo spent an hour in the Verizon store shopping for a Droid after becoming completely frustrated with his iphone (note to others: when AT&T tells you that you won’t get service in your area, you should probably believe them), me and the kids sat in a nearby Starbucks waiting for him. While I am no big fan of Starbucks, I have to admit the people watching was amazing. We were in Reno, after all. For those who are not familiar with the Biggest Little City, I can best describe it by saying it yearns to be like Las Vegas but is really more like some Podunk town in Oklahoma with a sprinkling of a cool street or two interspersed with trailer parks. The majority of customers in Starbucks were teens wearing skinny jeans with hoodies or leggings – either way, they were basically wearing tights and forgot to put a skirt on. I thought they looked ridiculous, a sure sign that I am getting old.

After my children consumed numerous cups of hot chocolate, water, chocolate milk, and vanilla milk – surprise! – they needed to use the bathroom. Kaiden proclaimed it was his turn first, and forbid us to go in the bathroom with him, but of course I had to promise him I would stand right outside the door. By this time, the teens in the tight clothing had started queuing up for the bathroom. I informed them they were in for a long haul and advised them to use the men’s restroom, but they declined. Fine, suit yourself, but you’re going to be waiting a long time. I’d hate to see you wet your pants and then try to peel those tight things off of you. Then again, that would definitely amuse me.

Fortunately, Kaiden only had to go number one, so he was done relatively quickly. Now it was Kaya’s turn. Of course, she had to poo, and of course, I had to stand right outside the door again, waiting. I entertained myself by watching one of the teenagers play pat-a-cake with a boy. I asked her again, “Are you sure you don’t want to use the men’s bathroom? This is going to take a while.” She said she was sure. I guess she was using this waiting time as an excuse to flirt. Maybe she also needed to come up with a game plan about how she was going to get her pants off to pee. I’m sure it took some heavy machinery to squeeze her into those things.

15 minutes passed. I was becoming anxious. I glance nervously at the teenagers. They seemed to be preoccupied by their hormones. Finally, after some heavy grunting coming from inside the restroom, Kaya yells out, “I’m done!” I walk in to find her with her hands up against the wall, like she’s waiting to be frisked by the police, except her pants are still around her ankles. This is my children’s self-imposed wiping position. I have my hand-cuffs ready in case she gets out of hand.

Finally, after I take a quick pee, our bathroom business is over. We walk through the door, and I turn to the waiting adolescents. “I think they keep the shoe-horns behind the sink.” The girl gave me a quizzical look, rolled her eyes, and went in the bathroom. One day she’ll learn that double caramel Machiattos with whip cream and skinny jeans don’t mix.

 

Don’t be embarrassed kitty, you still look cool – kind of January 30, 2010

Filed under: Mommahood, Peaks & Valleys — mountainmommamusings @ 12:17 pm
Tags: , ,

Meet our cat Cozmo. Poor Cozmo. She’s had better days.

Two weeks ago she underwent surgery. First was the dental surgery – she had already lost 70% of her teeth. We’d even find them on the kitchen floor. The vet informed us that the rest of her teeth were rotting and her gums infected. To boot, her stitches from when she was spade seven years ago were coming apart and she had a double hernia. So the vet did a double surgery – cleaning up her mouth and fixing her abdomen. She now has a grand total of three teeth. Meow.

As if that wasn’t embarrassing enough for a proud cat like Cozmo, she now has to wear this highly fashionable lamp shade. We avoided it the best we could. But when the vet came to check on her yesterday and take her stitches out, he said she had been licking her scar and it was becoming infected. This runs the risk of having to re-do the surgery, which we most DEFINITELY do not want to do, since it cost us almost $1,000. I’m thinking of renaming Cozmo the Bionic Kitten. I’ve never even spent that much on my own children’s medical bills.

So yesterday, we had no choice but to put the Elizabethan Collar, as it’s officially called (like if you call it something all fancy it won’t look so frickin’ hillarious), on Cozmo. She hasn’t quite gotten used to it. She runs into walls and scrapes against furniture. She slinks around the house all embarrassed like. She tries to scratch her chin but just hits plastic. She has difficulty eating her food and drinking out of her water bowl (reminds me of that scene in “16 Candles” when the girl with the neck brace tries, with much difficulty and maneuvering, to get a drink of water from the drinking fountain.) Cozmo does a great job of generating pity and I almost want to untie the collar, but then I think of my bank account and I hold back.

On top of all of this humiliation, we have to continue to give her oral antibiotics which is about as easy as sticking a thermometer up a screaming child’s ass. And now, because that damn cat licked herself, we have to put hydrogen peroxide on her scar twice a day. This cat is becoming one high-maintenance pet. Isn’t that the exact opposite of why you get a cat? Cats are supposed to be self-sufficient – you don’t have to bathe them or let them outside or take them for walks. Hell, sometimes they don’t even want you to pet them. It’s all on their own time. As a cat owner, you really only have one responsibility: feeding them.

Shit, if I had wanted this much responsibility I would have had children. Oh wait. I already do.

 

A guide to explaining pregnancy to children January 24, 2010

Filed under: Mommahood — mountainmommamusings @ 11:16 am
Tags:

So lately, with my belly getting bigger, my children have become more curious about the birth and the baby. Here are some of the questions they have been asking, and my two responses: what I actually told them, and then the truth, only muttered to myself under my breath.

1. Kaiden: “Mommy, can I watch the baby come out?”

“Well, I don’t know. I will be in some pain.”

“Will you be crying?”

“Yes, honey, I probably will.” As well as screaming and yelling curse words and calling your dad all sorts of really bad names. The phrase ‘Jesus fucking Christ’ will be uttered a lot.

“OK, I don’t want to watch the baby come out then.”

“Good choice.”

2. Kaya: “Mommy, how did the baby get in your tummy?”

“The Tooth Fairy put it there. She took the quarter I left under my pillow and gave me a baby instead.” Well, you are much too young for me to explain this one. And you better not find out what I’m talking about until you are 21. And don’t even think of wearing skimpy skirts and tight shirts when you are 15 because there’s no way in hell we will let you out of the house. The Tooth Fairy might see you.

3. Kaya: “Mommy, why is your tummy still squishy and not hard yet?”

“We just have to wait for the baby to get a little bigger and then my tummy will be harder.” Ok, you little shit, why do you think my belly is squishy in the first place? Umm, that would be because of YOU! Three years of exercising and it’s still not back to what it was. Now I’ve gone and got myself knocked up again and it will probably be another three years (or never) till I look like a Baywatch babe, so don’t you even think about commenting about my “squishy” belly once the baby’s out because you can kiss your Barbies and ballet shoes good-bye if you do.

4. Kaiden: ”Mommy, can we have a dog instead of a baby?”

“No.” When the day comes when you can push a small melon out your private parts, then you can decide whether we have a pet or a child. Until that time, sorry to say you will have to be content with our toothless wonder cat.

5. Kaya: “Does the vet help get the baby out?”

“Ummm, no honey, the vet is the animal doctor. I see a midwife.” But if I’m on all fours while in labor like last time – what the heck – call the vet if the midwife can’t make it. Then Kaiden can pretend he’s finally getting that puppy he’s always wanted. I just better not deliver a litter.

 

To Benadryl or not to Benadryl, that is the question January 18, 2010

Filed under: Mommahood, Peaks & Valleys — mountainmommamusings @ 6:35 pm
Tags: , , , ,

So I finally bit the bullet and decided to do it.

We are taking the kids half-way around the world to see my family in Israel. 24 hours travel time, three different planes, airplane food, cramped quarters, kids asking “Are we there yet?” after 20 minutes – I must be crazy. Yet my parents did it with me and my sister two times a year from the time I was 6 weeks old. If they did it, I can do it, right?

Here’s the thing – after 30-some years, my mother let it slip over Christmas that she used to drug me and my sister with Benadryl to make us sleep. I have heard of parents doing this before, and it has never really sat right with me – call me crazy, but the thought of drugging my own  children kind of seems wrong. And now I find out that my mom used to do it to me! Well, no wonder she was able to take us to Israel twice a year for our entire childhood – we slept the whole damn plane ride! (I have heard there is a homeopathic medication that can be used to make children sleep. I might look into that. Or whiskey.)

But my mom did have another bag of non-medicating tricks up her sleeve that I am definitely going to borrow. I vividly remember the beige carry-on duffel bag that came with us on every trip to Israel. Inside were a bunch of wrapped presents, and every hour that we were good, we got to open one up. For my kids, I am thinking of buying just little stuff like packs of gum, mints, pencils, etc.,  anything that can be used as bribery and occupy them, even if for just a few minutes. A trip to the Dollar Store is definitely in my near future.

I used to go to Israel every year, but once I got married and started popping out the kids, that came to an end. Now it’s been over 6 years since my last visit. I decided that now’s the time for several reasons – my kids are at a good age and are relatively good on the plane, i.e. they can sit still for long periods of time, I will be 4 months pregnant and not that huge, and we need to do this before the baby comes or it will be another three years before I even consider going, plus then we will have to pay for another seat, which is not cheap.

So we’re doing it. Minds made up. Tickets purchased. Shitting in the pants begun.

Don’t tell my family in Israel, but one of the things I’m most excited about is that we are going to stop in Ireland on the way there for 4 days, just to break things up. Why Ireland, you ask? For one, I have never been there, although Siig has. He also still has family there, who his mother is in touch with (his grandfather was Irish). So I guess I am making this trip an ancestral pilgrimage of sorts. Time for the kids to get in touch with their roots. But truthfully, I just felt for some unknown reason that Dublin would be a good place to travel with kids. It might be cold as hell, but at least we will be able to communicate. And Siig will have lots of Guinness to keep him happy.

Any travel-with-kids tips greatly appreciated. Winner of the best advice will receive a gift-wrapped pack of Trident chewing gum, courtesy of the Reno Dollar Store.

 

Burittos, kitty cats and 3-year olds, oh my! Or, how to get your husband to go to the doctor January 10, 2010

Filed under: Peaks & Valleys — mountainmommamusings @ 9:26 am
Tags: , , , ,

Poor Siigo had a rough day yesterday. He got royally beat up by, in order, a 3-year old, a burrito and a kitty-cat.

He was already in bad shape. In Mexico, he got dragged over some rocks by a huge wave, scraping his legs and arms and injuring his shoulder. Not to mention he got a royal talking-to by me for being out there in the huge surf and bringing my 25-year old sister Anna along, whose left butt cheek bore the brunt of the fall, and which – all red and scraped and tender - I had to look at the rest of the trip because she couldn’t put any pants on.

It didn’t help any that the day after we got back from Mexico, he walked in the door looking all dejected with a big cut running from his nose to his cheek. “I got hit by a shovel.”

Oh my god, he got in a fight and somebody wacked him a good one with a shovel! I was mortified. Then he told me the story. He was outside throwing salt on our icy driveway when he threw the big bag of salt down, which landed on the scoop part of a big snow shovel that was leaning against the door, which then made the handle thwack him in the face. Straight out of a cartoon, I tell you. Poor Siigo.

Siig was feeling so battered, he actually went to the chiropractor and got a massage. And he made both appointments himself. This is shocking because Siig normally can not make a doctor or dentist’s appointment to save his life. I have been nagging him for years to go to the dentist, but every time I make an appointment for him something “always comes up” so I have to cancel. No wonder women live longer than men.

Usually, and I know this is terrible to say coming from a wife about her husband, I don’t feel too sorry for Siig when he suffers a minor injury because something as little as a paper cut sends him into a tail spin. Whenever he has a cold, he basically thinks he’s dying. He stubs his toe and begs to be taken to the hospital. So it’s hard for me to judge the true nature of his injury or illness because most of the time I just don’t know if he’s exaggerating or being, well, a typical male. I do believe now that if men were the ones to have babies, we would have zero population growth.

But yesterday, I did start to actually feel sorry for the guy. It began when Kaya, our beautiful but clutsy 3-year old, did a ballet twirl and ended up punching Siig squarely in the nuts, flooring him. He was laying on the floor moaning, “My balls, my balls, they’re not coming down!” I told him, “There, now you don’t need to make a doctor’s appointment about that vasectomy.”

He finally recovered (and I presume his boys dropped back down), when we were driving in the car after grocery shopping and he asked me to hand him his burrito. He took a few bites when all of a sudden he started yelling in pain and clutching his mouth like he was being electrocuted from the outside in, then pulled something out of his mouth. What was it? Did he find a band-aid? (That actually happened to me once.) A finger? A razor blade? Were we going to crash? He pulls out a piece of tinfoil that the burrito was wrapped in and holds it up. The tinfoil had hit the metal in his fillings, causing immense pain. So much for that dentist’s visit.

Back home, our next task was to give our feisty cat Cozmo some medication. Our vet recently discovered that Cozmo’s mouth resembles a war zone – she has lost 70% of her teeth, and what’s left is rotting and infected. Our dentist was so kind as to show my 5-year old Cozmo’s teeth and say, “See, this is what happens when you don’t brush your teeth.” That was worth the $200 bill alone. The vet put her on a week’s worth of antibiotics, which we have to give her orally. Easier said than done. My first try resulted in the bottle of medicine spilling all over the coffee table and only about half getting in Cozmo’s mouth. So the next time, Siig - even though he’s allergic to the cat – selflessly said he would help. I had to hold Cozmo while he stuck the dropper in her mouth. But as soon as we got into position, the squirmy cat swiped Siig’s hand, sticking a claw deep into his thumb. Siig howled in pain and jumped up and down. “Oh my god, oh my god. This is the worst pain ever!” He was sure that he found a piece of Cozmo’s claw in the wound. I told him cats are not like bees – they don’t leave a stinger in their victim and then die. (Although that would save us the $500 bill to clean and extract her teeth. Don’t worry, I’m kidding. Sort of.)

I thought Siig had finally thrown in the towel and was probably going to go hide in a cave somewhere, when I heard him calling my name from the mudroom. “Come on, I’m ready. Let’s do this thing.” He walked back into the house wearing his one-piece snowmobile suit, gloves and a helmet. He looked like one of those guys from a haz-mat spill. “I’m not going to let a little pussy get me down.”

That’s my boy.

“See,” I said, “life is like sex – a little protection goes a long way.”

Now if I can just convince him that he can wear the full-body suit to the doctor, maybe he’ll actually keep an appointment.

 

Cleared for take-off, but not the bathroom January 5, 2010

Filed under: Mommahood — mountainmommamusings @ 6:15 pm
Tags: ,

I should have predicted it. Everything was going too smoothly.

Knowing my children’s bathroom habits, I should have known. Known what, you ask? That the minute the plane started taxing down the runway, the very few minutes when no one can get up from their seat, not even the stewardess, my kids would have to go to the bathroom. Really bad. And on separate flights.

Two hours at the Palm Springs airport, with plenty of bathrooms, of course Kaya announces that she has to go when we are buckled in our seats and getting ready for take off. She looks at me with a pained look on her face, one hand holding her crotch: “Mommy, I have to go pee-pee, really bad!”

This is one of those parent moments where you just don’t know the proper protocol. Do I risk the wrath of the flight attendant and possibly injuring myself and my child, or do I risk Kaya peeing all over the airplane seat? I looked nervously around the plane. Everyone was seated with their seat belt on, even the flight attendant. We were taxing down the runway. I decided to go the safe route.

“Kaya, you have to wait. We can’t go now.”

“Mommy, I have to go, reaaaallllly bad.”

Great, she is going to wet the seat, I just know it. At least I had brought extra clothes for her. She started to cry. Swell. But we have to be taking off any minute. Then the pilots voice came on over the loud-speaker. “Well, ladies and gentlemen. We are number five for take-off. So just sit back and enjoy your flight.”

Number five???? Sit back and relax? You got to be kidding me. She was going to explode. Pee was going to come flying out of her putter and spray every passenger on the entire plane. We would be given a parachute and kicked off the plane somewhere over the desert. I would be banned from ever flying US Airways again.

My theory was: don’t look at her, then she’ll forget she has to go. After a while, I stole a furtive glance at Kaya. It looked like she was breaking out in a cold sweat. I didn’t know 3-year olds could perspire. Great, next I’ll have to buy her deodorant. Finally, we were up in the air. But it was super turbulent. The flight attendant walked by, holding on to the overhead bins for balance. I asked him if she could go to the bathroom. “Not yet,” he said. Oh my god, this was torture! For both me and Kaya.

I decided to distract myself by doing a crossword puzzle. After a few minutes, I looked at her again. Asleep. Great, now she was going to be sleeping in a pool of piss. I tried to wake her, to no avail. Screw it. Let her sleep and I can enjoy a peaceful flight. When we land, Siig and I come up with a game plan: he’ll take Kaiden and the bags, and I’ll scoop up Kaya and run off the plane to find a bathroom. Amazingly, her bottom seems dry. Or maybe I’m just in denial. We go flying into the terminal. No bathroom. I start running in the direction of the gate for our next flight, sure we’ll find a bathroom any minute. No such luck. We enter the longest stretch of LAX without a bathroom. I start to panic. She’s not going to make it.

Now I’m sweating from running through the airport while carrying a 30-lb little girl, not to mention a backpack that weighs about the same. Finally, I see it: the universal sign for a restroom – the black silhouettes of a man and woman stick figure. We run into a stall, pull down her pants and throw her on the potty. While she pees, I bend over to catch my breath. Work out for the day complete.

I think my worries are over when on our next flight to Reno, as we start heading down the runway, I hear from Kaiden: “Mommy, I have to pee, reaaaaaaaallllllllllly bad!” For reals? What kind of pee karma do I have? This time, Kaiden is sitting nex to Siig. My rule for airplanes: if you’re sitting next to the child with a problem, that’s your problem. I go back to my crossword puzzle. First clue: four letter word that starts with P. Think I’ll skip that one.

 

Papaya Daze December 28, 2009

Filed under: Peaks & Valleys — mountainmommamusings @ 5:19 pm
Tags: , , , ,

Rather than making you all feel bad that you are not in sunny Puerto Vallarta sipping margaritas by my side, I’ll make you feel bad that you are not in sunny Puerto Vallarta while everyone else sips Coronas and margaritas while preggo you enjoys your bottled water and stealing sips off your kids’ cherry lemonade. Life is hard.

I have been to Puerto Vallarta twice before, but both were a very long time ago. The first was in 1990 for my high school graduation party. As you can imagine, that was pure debauchery, which I don’t remember very well except for vague memories of waking up in only my bathing suit bottoms on the bathroom floor (apparently, I thought swimming at 3 am after a night of partying was a good idea. Luckily, my stomach didn’t feel the same). The second time was for a college friend’s wedding in 2001, but that was almost the same as the high school grad trip except for the fact that I was a little more mature so I didn’t get quite as dumb-ass drunk.

So maybe that explains why I don’t remember PV being such a gay mecca. I have seen more banana hammocks in two days than my entire time backpacking through Europe. The fact that PV had become a gay destination gradually dawned on us as we approached the main beach. We could hear the techno thumping a mile away. As we started noticing that the party scene was mainly made up of well-oiled, hard-bodied men trying to strike their best poses in their itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny speedos, a Mexican man trying to sell us on a booze cruise asked us as we walked by:

“Are you part of the family?”

Me, my husband and my two sisters looked at each other. What did he mean, exactly? We were party of a family, but were we part of the family?

“What family are you talking about?” I asked him.

“The gay family,” he said, a note of impatience in his voice, as if I should have known what he was talking about.

Oh, I thought, ‘family’ must be a code word for ‘gay,’ kind of like when people ask “Do you party?” they mean more than just drink alcohol.

“No, no, we’re not part of that family,” I told the man. But he was not so sure.

“But she has a butterfly tattoo on her back,” he said, pointing to my sister Julie.

“A butterfly tattoo? Why does that mean she’s gay?

“Some people might think that’s a sign she’s papaya,” he said.

Papaya? Apparently, an orange fruit is another code word for ‘family.’ I was learning more code words that a double agent at the CIA.

As we walked home, Siig got depressed that no man was even batting so much as an eyelash at him. “I ain’t got it no more,” he said. “I’m old.” 

To make it up to him, I bought him a mango-on-a-stick that some vendors were selling on a beach. “It ain’t papaya, but it will do,” I said. “But you’re still forbidden from ever wearing a speedo.”

 

Something to Chirp About December 21, 2009

Filed under: Peaks & Valleys — mountainmommamusings @ 11:31 am

Fly on over to For The Birds to check out my second guest blog appearance. I think I’ve finally hit the big time. Please line up for autographs to my right.

http://forthebirdsblog.com/guest-birds/melissa-s/

 

Wax Me a New One December 19, 2009

Filed under: Peaks & Valleys — mountainmommamusings @ 10:27 am
Tags:

I’m off to Mexico next week, so that means one thing – time for the dreaded Bikini Wax.

I like to compare this unfortunate-but-necessary beauty ritual to visiting your therapist, OB/GYN and dentist all at the same time. I both look forward to it and dread it.

I look forward to it because, in a weird way – during the brief moments when you are not getting the hair in your private parts ripped off – it’s kind of relaxing. Laying on a massage table with soothing music in the background, listening to tinkling water from a fountain, and the lights are dim – you could almost, almost, trick yourself into thinking you were about to get a massage. That is, until you look up to see a woman between your legs with a popsicle stick full of wax. Now the experience has suddenly turned into a trip to the dentist’s office – you know pain is in your very, very near future.

Mostly what I think about when I’m laying there while the Bikini Waxer (or should I call her “Torturer”?) does her thing is how incredibly awkward it must be to be her. She chatters away, asking you about your plans for the holidays and your kids, like it’s perfectly normal to be having a polite conversation while she coats your nether regions with wax and then yanks it off, reminding me of the scene in “40 Year Old Virgin” when Steve Carell gets his chest hair waxed while screaming obscenities at the esthetician. My favorite is when the Waxer asks you to hold your leg up in the air so she can reach those hard-to-get places near your bum. It makes me feel I’m about to star in a porno or deliver a baby.

I mean, Bikini Waxers have got to see more vaginas than Baby Doctors and Tiger Woods put together.

But really, the ultimate is when she breaks out the tweezers. She starts talking about her plans to go to Disney Land while she casually inspects her work, her heard tucked between your legs like she’s working on a car engine, plucking away at all the individual hairs she missed. Makes me think she’s going to embark on a full makeover of the area with lipstick and rouge and mascara. Now that would be interesting.

I have never so much as contemplated a Brazilian – I don’t know how those ladies endure that. I think would have to undergo general anesthesia. Which gives me an idea – I think Bikini Waxers and OB/GYNs and midwives should get together to offer a special – bikini waxes while you are in labor. You are already in so much pain, and any attempts at modesty are already out the door, what’s a little more? I say, get it all over and done with in one fell swoop.

Not like you will be wearing a bathing suit any time soon, but at least you’ll be looking good in those granny panties.

 

What’s a girl gotta do to find some Hanukkah candles around here? December 15, 2009

Filed under: Peaks & Valleys — mountainmommamusings @ 11:08 pm
Tags: , , , , ,

I’ve been a bad, bad Jew. How bad? I can’t even remember the last time I celebrated a Jewish holiday. I think it was in my early 20s, about 15 years ago (cough, cough), when I was visiting my dad when he lived in Montreal. It was Passover, and we celebrated it not one, but two, nights at his Orthodox Jewish second cousin’s house. If you have ever sat through an orthodox Passover, it’s no fun the first night, let alone the second. The words ‘loooooooooooooooong’ and ‘painful’ come to mind. I think I was so scarred by the experience I haven’t honored a Jewish holiday since.

Since my kids have started attending an after-school program at the local Baptist church, however, I’ve realized that all that has got to change. (If you’re wondering why I send my kids there, I live in a small town and the church is one of my only choices for after school programs. Plus it’s super cheap.) I’ve been thinking about it ever since I had kids, but could never get motivated to dust off the menorah we got for a wedding present that hasn’t moved since, or try to remember the rituals that go with each holiday. And every time I planned on taking my kids to synagogue, just to introduce them, and Siig for that matter, to the Jewish religion, something would come up -  Siig would work late, or we would be too tired, or it was snowing, or I just plumb didn’t feel like it.

But when Kaya came home the other day singing “Christmas without Christ,” I knew it was time. Neither Siig or I are religious, I just don’t want my kids thinking Christianity is the only game in town. They are welcome to choose for themselves what religion, if any, they want to follow when they are older. But introducing them to Judaism is also important to me since it’s part of my culture as well. More so for me because my father is from Israel and half my family lives over there. One day, when I am not so daunted by a 24-hour plane ride  with 2 kids and the potential to walk in the path of a suicide bomber, I’ll take my kids to Israel. The last time  I was there was in 2003, when Siig and I went as part of our honeymoon.

What sealed the deal was when I got an email from the church saying they were going to have a Christmas party called “Baby Jesus Christmas.” Now, I have nothing against Christmas – we have always celebrated the secular side of the holiday. Growing up, my Jewish family would have a tree and stockings and exchange gifts on Christmas morning. We just did, you know, the fun stuff. We also celebrated Hanukkah. This never seemed weird to me. In fact, my extended family still all gets together over Christmas to give gifts. And eat. Can’t forget the eating.

This year, for the first time ever, we have a tree at our house. That’s all fine and dandy, but I have to draw the line at my kids singing about Sweet Baby Jesus and not knowing about their Jewish heritage. So, finally, after 5 years of thinking about it, I decided we would celebrate Hanukkah.

Well, easier said than done.

First, I had to find Hanukkah candles. I went to one grocery store, and then another, only to find not that not only did they have no Hanukkah candles, but they had nothing for Hanukkah at all. Not a single dradle or chocolate coin to be seen. One store manager brought me over to the “Ethnic” section, where on the second shelf from the bottom sat about four Jewish food items. He said that if they had Hanukkah candles, it would be here, sandwiched between the Matzah ball and Gefilte fish mixes. So much for diversity.

I have to say, I was a tad upset. It was one thing if I didn’t celebrate Jewish holidays all these years, but it’s quite the other thing if a major grocery chain doesn’t carry a single item for a holiday of the country’s second major religion. Now I was really motivated to light this damn menorah. I’d just do it with birthday candles. It’s the thought that counts, right?

Fortunately, a half-Jewish friend of mine who I had complained to about the situation managed to find some Hanukkah candles at the one store I didn’t go to (of course), and bought me a box. So now I was committed. I turned to my “Bible” – Google – to look up the correct way to light the menorah and the prayers that go along with it.

Tonight is the fifth night of Hanukkah, and I’ve managed to light candles two of the five nights. Guess I’m still not a very good Jew.

Oy.