With the background of 'noiseth in the the distanth' and sirens to remind us that our little paradise is perhaps not entirely real, I scratch my head most days and wonder. If someone were to paint our family portrait, the foreground would seem completely incongruous to the backdrop.
Every morning we awake to blue skies, a gentle breeze and a cacophony of birds. We open the doors and shutters and go straight into our scurfy little yard/garden dotted with lime and lemon trees; a pomegranate and an apricot. It's the first house we've lived in with a garden and it has entirely changed the way we live and interact with one another.
We've invested in a large inflatable paddling pool which has turned the boys from dwarves into nano-nymphs. They are in it most of the time. Which I'm glad about, because St Grace and the dwarves had to take 4 taxi rides worth £15 each way, to get the pool, and then back again when they got home to realise we also needed a pump. Having been encouraged, by the Israeli shop assistant, that if she spent a further £30 she'd get £20 off the pool, shop she did - and came back laden with many other exciting items such as a loo brush and cleaning products. The entire project has cost me near on £100. And my Scottish streak is keener than it used to be (you'll be happy to hear, Dad).
After witnessing St Grace's first shopping foray, I try to do the supermarket trips myself - generally with the dwarves in tow. The round trip takes about 2 hours as the fruit and veg is sold in a separate shop. We struggle through tiny roads of gridlocked traffic with the Lozenge in the front seat and Rashimi swinging off the coat handles in the back like a chimp. The Lozenge insists on his own trolley in the green grocer so he can buy things to make 'thoup'. Rashimi's sticky hand plucks at grapes and piles of dates. The shopkeepers turn a blind eye and help us practise our Arabic.Then we struggle down the street trying not to get squashed by the revving 'Shabaab'(lads) who drive more furiously in Ramadan, encumbered always, by a watermelon, bunches of bananas from Jericho and all the rest.
The locals use a one way street, in the opposite direction, as a short cut. And three men made me (the one who was using the street the correct way) reverse all the way back down the steep slope to allow them to pass, which produced extreme expletives from me. For once the dwarves were silenced as I swore and shouted at the men. Still now when we pass that street, Rashimi reminds me: 'Thothe naughty men was going the WONG way, and made Mummy upTHET!' They are allies at times, these dwarves.
The supermarket is a euphemism for ice cream which is why the dwarves always come shopping, and this week we had to wait half an hour by the suppurating bins in 40 degrees, while Rashimi painstakingly licked his lolly, not allowing anyone, least of all the Lozenge, to come near, and all I could do was watch as the little green and pink rivulets meandered towards his elbow.
I left J and the dwarves for a weekend to go back to London for a school reunion. The dwarves spent the morning I left, stark naked as ever, playing with the plastic picnic set and pretending their noses were a carrot and a corn on the cob and sneezing them off; then Rashimi, who has a fixation with witches at the moment, rode around the house on the plunger that unblocks the sink, still naked, shrieking 'WOOOO HAAAA HAAAA HAAAA!' like a witch. Then they both dived into the paddling pool. When I left for the aiport with Bassem they hopped out to give me a slimy hug. I said: 'Look after Grace and look after Daddy.' And Rashimi said: 'Look after Batthem!' As I say, life on our patch couldn't seem further from Gaza.
But the rumblings in the news were ominous and the British Consulate has cranked into 'crisis mode'. There was a five hour delay to our flight because the Israeli airport staff were on strike, and as I sat on the runway in an orange tube with the air conditioning turning the passengers to ice, I wondered if I was making a terrible mistake leaving the dwarves and J just for a school reunion. I had the nursery rhyme in my head: 'Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home. Your house is on fire and your children are gone.' And I remembered that the Lozenge had been drawing pictures of ladybirds at breakfast and maybe that was an omen. After a panic call to J he assured me I was doing the right thing, and to try and enjoy it.
No problem there. The noise levels eminating from the room full of wonderful women, must have been audible at Arsenal (we were in Fulham). Many, many great people I'm still in touch with, but some equally brilliant girls I hadn't seen since 20 years ago, we all raced out of the traps into the wider world brandishing hopes and dreams, and it seems most of us are now living them.
Sometimes when I'm at a party I find my head doing the maths - calculating how many minutes you could have with each person - and I wonder if it's worth it, if all you can do is a conversational skate over the surface of all those lives. Maybe it was the rosé, but very soon, I forgot about that and marvelled at what a start we'd all had in life - not just being at that school, but growing up together, and still having so much to talk about 20 years on. Luckily no one has forgotten how to giggle, or drink. Or was it just me? Miraculously, we're all still alive, and everyone looks GREAT. We are so lucky.
I returned to find happy dwarves, an empty fridge (as thankfully St Grace hadn't been to the shops), and an even more mischievous Rashimi who keeps widdling all over the place now he's worked out how to do a 'man wee wee'.
So the dwarves and I did the sweaty hike to buy some food. I caught Rashimi about to whip down his pants in the fruit store and raced with him round the back of the shop to a revolting loo. As I was bending down to help him, my sunglasses fell off my head and into the loo bowl. Yuk, yuk and yuk. I don't know how I get myself into these tangles in 40 degrees.
The Lozenge spotted something by the checkout. 'Look Mummy! Lipthickth! I want to buy one for Batool (the Glammy our amazing Jordanian nanny we had in Jordan, who we're visiting next week). I pointed out that they were nail varnishes, but he was welcome to choose one for the Glammy. He chose a bright red one, and has wrapped it up in pale blue tissue paper and huge swathes of masking tape.
Rashimi left his fifth little puddle in the house, near the doorway, as though he too is marking his territory like many other people in this land, and I joked: 'If you were a dog, Rashimi, I'd rub your nose in it.'
Later that evening as I was trying to insert the toothbrush between clenched white fangs, he wrapped his sticky arms around my neck and said: 'Mummy, I don't want you to wub my nothe.' You forget that a 2.5 year old world view - is still a literal one.
Last night, J and I mulled over the situation - the tragedies on our doorstep; the Consulate in crisis mode calling us to make sure we're stockpiling food (you try...); messages going around to avoid certain areas. We both agreed we'd spent the day doing our normal thing - J had a meeting in Ramallah, I sat cross legged in my den putting my new film camera together and working out how to use it. A Palestinian friend called to invite us around on Friday night.
We are finding it hard to reconcile the normality of our daily life with the chaos so near at hand.
Every morning we awake to blue skies, a gentle breeze and a cacophony of birds. We open the doors and shutters and go straight into our scurfy little yard/garden dotted with lime and lemon trees; a pomegranate and an apricot. It's the first house we've lived in with a garden and it has entirely changed the way we live and interact with one another.
We've invested in a large inflatable paddling pool which has turned the boys from dwarves into nano-nymphs. They are in it most of the time. Which I'm glad about, because St Grace and the dwarves had to take 4 taxi rides worth £15 each way, to get the pool, and then back again when they got home to realise we also needed a pump. Having been encouraged, by the Israeli shop assistant, that if she spent a further £30 she'd get £20 off the pool, shop she did - and came back laden with many other exciting items such as a loo brush and cleaning products. The entire project has cost me near on £100. And my Scottish streak is keener than it used to be (you'll be happy to hear, Dad).
After witnessing St Grace's first shopping foray, I try to do the supermarket trips myself - generally with the dwarves in tow. The round trip takes about 2 hours as the fruit and veg is sold in a separate shop. We struggle through tiny roads of gridlocked traffic with the Lozenge in the front seat and Rashimi swinging off the coat handles in the back like a chimp. The Lozenge insists on his own trolley in the green grocer so he can buy things to make 'thoup'. Rashimi's sticky hand plucks at grapes and piles of dates. The shopkeepers turn a blind eye and help us practise our Arabic.Then we struggle down the street trying not to get squashed by the revving 'Shabaab'(lads) who drive more furiously in Ramadan, encumbered always, by a watermelon, bunches of bananas from Jericho and all the rest.
The locals use a one way street, in the opposite direction, as a short cut. And three men made me (the one who was using the street the correct way) reverse all the way back down the steep slope to allow them to pass, which produced extreme expletives from me. For once the dwarves were silenced as I swore and shouted at the men. Still now when we pass that street, Rashimi reminds me: 'Thothe naughty men was going the WONG way, and made Mummy upTHET!' They are allies at times, these dwarves.
The supermarket is a euphemism for ice cream which is why the dwarves always come shopping, and this week we had to wait half an hour by the suppurating bins in 40 degrees, while Rashimi painstakingly licked his lolly, not allowing anyone, least of all the Lozenge, to come near, and all I could do was watch as the little green and pink rivulets meandered towards his elbow.
I left J and the dwarves for a weekend to go back to London for a school reunion. The dwarves spent the morning I left, stark naked as ever, playing with the plastic picnic set and pretending their noses were a carrot and a corn on the cob and sneezing them off; then Rashimi, who has a fixation with witches at the moment, rode around the house on the plunger that unblocks the sink, still naked, shrieking 'WOOOO HAAAA HAAAA HAAAA!' like a witch. Then they both dived into the paddling pool. When I left for the aiport with Bassem they hopped out to give me a slimy hug. I said: 'Look after Grace and look after Daddy.' And Rashimi said: 'Look after Batthem!' As I say, life on our patch couldn't seem further from Gaza.
But the rumblings in the news were ominous and the British Consulate has cranked into 'crisis mode'. There was a five hour delay to our flight because the Israeli airport staff were on strike, and as I sat on the runway in an orange tube with the air conditioning turning the passengers to ice, I wondered if I was making a terrible mistake leaving the dwarves and J just for a school reunion. I had the nursery rhyme in my head: 'Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home. Your house is on fire and your children are gone.' And I remembered that the Lozenge had been drawing pictures of ladybirds at breakfast and maybe that was an omen. After a panic call to J he assured me I was doing the right thing, and to try and enjoy it.
No problem there. The noise levels eminating from the room full of wonderful women, must have been audible at Arsenal (we were in Fulham). Many, many great people I'm still in touch with, but some equally brilliant girls I hadn't seen since 20 years ago, we all raced out of the traps into the wider world brandishing hopes and dreams, and it seems most of us are now living them.
Sometimes when I'm at a party I find my head doing the maths - calculating how many minutes you could have with each person - and I wonder if it's worth it, if all you can do is a conversational skate over the surface of all those lives. Maybe it was the rosé, but very soon, I forgot about that and marvelled at what a start we'd all had in life - not just being at that school, but growing up together, and still having so much to talk about 20 years on. Luckily no one has forgotten how to giggle, or drink. Or was it just me? Miraculously, we're all still alive, and everyone looks GREAT. We are so lucky.
I returned to find happy dwarves, an empty fridge (as thankfully St Grace hadn't been to the shops), and an even more mischievous Rashimi who keeps widdling all over the place now he's worked out how to do a 'man wee wee'.
So the dwarves and I did the sweaty hike to buy some food. I caught Rashimi about to whip down his pants in the fruit store and raced with him round the back of the shop to a revolting loo. As I was bending down to help him, my sunglasses fell off my head and into the loo bowl. Yuk, yuk and yuk. I don't know how I get myself into these tangles in 40 degrees.
The Lozenge spotted something by the checkout. 'Look Mummy! Lipthickth! I want to buy one for Batool (the Glammy our amazing Jordanian nanny we had in Jordan, who we're visiting next week). I pointed out that they were nail varnishes, but he was welcome to choose one for the Glammy. He chose a bright red one, and has wrapped it up in pale blue tissue paper and huge swathes of masking tape.
Rashimi left his fifth little puddle in the house, near the doorway, as though he too is marking his territory like many other people in this land, and I joked: 'If you were a dog, Rashimi, I'd rub your nose in it.'
Later that evening as I was trying to insert the toothbrush between clenched white fangs, he wrapped his sticky arms around my neck and said: 'Mummy, I don't want you to wub my nothe.' You forget that a 2.5 year old world view - is still a literal one.
Last night, J and I mulled over the situation - the tragedies on our doorstep; the Consulate in crisis mode calling us to make sure we're stockpiling food (you try...); messages going around to avoid certain areas. We both agreed we'd spent the day doing our normal thing - J had a meeting in Ramallah, I sat cross legged in my den putting my new film camera together and working out how to use it. A Palestinian friend called to invite us around on Friday night.
We are finding it hard to reconcile the normality of our daily life with the chaos so near at hand.
No comments:
Post a Comment