Such is the Lozenge's enthusiasm for his new school, he's been waking at 4.30am for the past 5 days; creeping into our room and whispering loudly in my ear: 'Mummmeeeee, ith it time to get up and pleathe can I thtart making my thamwich for my packed lunch.' I let him get on with it, and after a couple of hours of stop-start dozing either J and I make it to the kitchen to see the trailblaze of packed lunch detritus: the butter all chopped and mashed up in the dish and the sandwich with some determined fingerprints on the top.
Although we're encouraging this autonomy and you can't beat the enthusiasm - even at 4.30 in the morning, J and I wonder if we've regressed since the dwarves were babies. We're getting less sleep and the days seem fuller and more challenging somehow - we laughed to ourselves, hunched over cups of extra strong black coffee, J in glasses with a bit of a hairdo and t-shirt with a dinosaur on it saying: 'To the Disco'. How did we end up in the kitchen altogether at 5am? Then there's a discussion about what the Lozenge wants to wear. One morning he wanted to wear the blue shoes, I was hoping he could break in the new brown ones so they didn't sit in a cupboard unused. It was a 20 minute to-and-fro of opinions until he said: 'How about, Mummy, if I could wear one brown and one blue one and then we can both be happy?' Then at 7.15 either J or I do the little run to school, by which stage the sun is up and Jerusalem has spluttered and chimed into life and everything seems very much more alright.
During the day I've been hanging out at the St John's Eye Hospital which serves Palestinian communities with vital opthalmic care, unavailable to them elsewhere.
They've asked me to make a short film which will show off their work and I'm looking for a story of a patient before they undergo treatment so I can follow the process. Yesterday I spent a few hours there sitting in the paediatric clinic and meeting glaucoma doctors. There were three Palestinian nurses working there, all Muslim but dressed in western clothes and heads uncovered. They were talking about the recent cases they've seen from Gaza and one of them recounted the tragic tale of a woman who had lost both her parents, all her brothers and sisters, and four of her children including a new born baby only 40 days old. Her husband and one other child were fighting for their lives. 'But the saddest thing of all,' said one of the nurses, 'is the woman had a blow to her head, and now you know, she can't even remember the faces or names or anything about her family members who died, and she doesn't even recognise her husband. The only thing we have left is our memories - and this lady, she doesn't even have those.'
The Gazans are struggling with picking up the pieces of their lives while the world media machine has lumbered elsewhere.
A young girl walked in with her mother while we were chatting. The mother was tall and dressed in a double hijab - a headscarf with a black face covering on top. Her daughter's eye problem was carefully inspected and on her way out the mother said in Arabic to one of the nurses: 'You will all go to hell because you don't have your heads covered.' Quick as a flash one of the nurses answered: 'Well, you will go to hell. But actually I already have my place in heaven. Thank you and goodbye.' And with that she shut the door and the nurses all roared with laughter.
The Lozenge reappears back home every day just after 3pm, ready for more action, and then it's a case of balancing Tiger Mother with Idle Parent. Do you succumb to the school run chatter and sign up your children to multiple after-school activities on offer: Tae Kwando, Tennis, Yoga...? Or err, as I always find myself lazily erring towards, the mooching about dwarf style and letting them choose what they want to do at home in the first house we've ever had with a garden.
I'm excited to say that the dwarves have started to enjoy dressing up which appeals to the exhibitionist in me.
But J and I decided that an hour of some kind of sport like tennis or football and a little introduction to music would be enough for the Lozenge at this early stage in his life.
So I found Rachel, or she found me. She's a beautiful French secular Jewish painter and musician. The Lozenge was up for meeting her so we drove round to her house - a modern apartment, mostly white, with a black grand piano and a mannequin draped in a theatrical grey gown standing beside it.
'So Laurie,' she said in her soft French accent. 'Do you want to 'ear some magic?'
And so began the 40 minute session as she opened the lid of the piano and let him fiddle with the strings. Then she let him bounce a basket ball to understand how sound reverberates in a space. And then she sat down and asked the Lozenge which animal he could think of when she played a thumping tune on the low notes and then a little twinkling one on the high notes. And then they found 'Do' in the middle of the piano and he sang after her as she sang: do, re, mi, fa, soooooo. And then he drew a house and she drew some stairs in it with balls on the steps that looked like music notes on a score. Quite a few shekels well spent, I'd say. L was enraptured, as was I, and he asked Rachel: 'When can I come back?'
Rashimi and Grace had been frolicking in a park during that time. We collected them on the way back and the Lozenge explained to Rashimi that Rachel: 'Thpoke like Madame Gazelle in Peppa Pig'. So ze 'ole way back we were speakin' wiz a French accent and Rashimi said: 'Mummy is that FWENCH! Aaaah, it's nithe that FWENCH.' And I realised that the boys are actually more French than I am - 1/4 (them) versus zero (me).
J and I have had three parties this week and have suddenly met huge numbers of great people from all over the world, of all ages and creeds and shapes and sizes. We're growing to love this extraordinary place which has so much to offer. It's an exercise in keeping your mind open at every moment, then everything and everyone, is waiting for you.
Last night the dress code was black tie or any form of national dress. As I got ready, Rashimi watched as I climbed into a long Palestinian 'thobe' dress I found in Jordan. 'Mummy, are you going to a party?Can I come?Are you exthited?Will it be DARK?'
And dark it was. A candlelit banquet for about 40 of us under the full moon in a courtyard. I sat next to a Belgian man in a kilt on one side; a Brit in a Moroccan djellaba just opposite, and made sure I drank one glass of water to every glass of wine so I didn't have booze breath, only a few hours after the party ended, hiccup, on the school run.
Although we're encouraging this autonomy and you can't beat the enthusiasm - even at 4.30 in the morning, J and I wonder if we've regressed since the dwarves were babies. We're getting less sleep and the days seem fuller and more challenging somehow - we laughed to ourselves, hunched over cups of extra strong black coffee, J in glasses with a bit of a hairdo and t-shirt with a dinosaur on it saying: 'To the Disco'. How did we end up in the kitchen altogether at 5am? Then there's a discussion about what the Lozenge wants to wear. One morning he wanted to wear the blue shoes, I was hoping he could break in the new brown ones so they didn't sit in a cupboard unused. It was a 20 minute to-and-fro of opinions until he said: 'How about, Mummy, if I could wear one brown and one blue one and then we can both be happy?' Then at 7.15 either J or I do the little run to school, by which stage the sun is up and Jerusalem has spluttered and chimed into life and everything seems very much more alright.
During the day I've been hanging out at the St John's Eye Hospital which serves Palestinian communities with vital opthalmic care, unavailable to them elsewhere.
They've asked me to make a short film which will show off their work and I'm looking for a story of a patient before they undergo treatment so I can follow the process. Yesterday I spent a few hours there sitting in the paediatric clinic and meeting glaucoma doctors. There were three Palestinian nurses working there, all Muslim but dressed in western clothes and heads uncovered. They were talking about the recent cases they've seen from Gaza and one of them recounted the tragic tale of a woman who had lost both her parents, all her brothers and sisters, and four of her children including a new born baby only 40 days old. Her husband and one other child were fighting for their lives. 'But the saddest thing of all,' said one of the nurses, 'is the woman had a blow to her head, and now you know, she can't even remember the faces or names or anything about her family members who died, and she doesn't even recognise her husband. The only thing we have left is our memories - and this lady, she doesn't even have those.'
The Gazans are struggling with picking up the pieces of their lives while the world media machine has lumbered elsewhere.
A young girl walked in with her mother while we were chatting. The mother was tall and dressed in a double hijab - a headscarf with a black face covering on top. Her daughter's eye problem was carefully inspected and on her way out the mother said in Arabic to one of the nurses: 'You will all go to hell because you don't have your heads covered.' Quick as a flash one of the nurses answered: 'Well, you will go to hell. But actually I already have my place in heaven. Thank you and goodbye.' And with that she shut the door and the nurses all roared with laughter.
The Lozenge reappears back home every day just after 3pm, ready for more action, and then it's a case of balancing Tiger Mother with Idle Parent. Do you succumb to the school run chatter and sign up your children to multiple after-school activities on offer: Tae Kwando, Tennis, Yoga...? Or err, as I always find myself lazily erring towards, the mooching about dwarf style and letting them choose what they want to do at home in the first house we've ever had with a garden.
I'm excited to say that the dwarves have started to enjoy dressing up which appeals to the exhibitionist in me.
 |
| Hamish the hornet |
But J and I decided that an hour of some kind of sport like tennis or football and a little introduction to music would be enough for the Lozenge at this early stage in his life.
So I found Rachel, or she found me. She's a beautiful French secular Jewish painter and musician. The Lozenge was up for meeting her so we drove round to her house - a modern apartment, mostly white, with a black grand piano and a mannequin draped in a theatrical grey gown standing beside it.
'So Laurie,' she said in her soft French accent. 'Do you want to 'ear some magic?'
And so began the 40 minute session as she opened the lid of the piano and let him fiddle with the strings. Then she let him bounce a basket ball to understand how sound reverberates in a space. And then she sat down and asked the Lozenge which animal he could think of when she played a thumping tune on the low notes and then a little twinkling one on the high notes. And then they found 'Do' in the middle of the piano and he sang after her as she sang: do, re, mi, fa, soooooo. And then he drew a house and she drew some stairs in it with balls on the steps that looked like music notes on a score. Quite a few shekels well spent, I'd say. L was enraptured, as was I, and he asked Rachel: 'When can I come back?'
Rashimi and Grace had been frolicking in a park during that time. We collected them on the way back and the Lozenge explained to Rashimi that Rachel: 'Thpoke like Madame Gazelle in Peppa Pig'. So ze 'ole way back we were speakin' wiz a French accent and Rashimi said: 'Mummy is that FWENCH! Aaaah, it's nithe that FWENCH.' And I realised that the boys are actually more French than I am - 1/4 (them) versus zero (me).
J and I have had three parties this week and have suddenly met huge numbers of great people from all over the world, of all ages and creeds and shapes and sizes. We're growing to love this extraordinary place which has so much to offer. It's an exercise in keeping your mind open at every moment, then everything and everyone, is waiting for you.
Last night the dress code was black tie or any form of national dress. As I got ready, Rashimi watched as I climbed into a long Palestinian 'thobe' dress I found in Jordan. 'Mummy, are you going to a party?Can I come?Are you exthited?Will it be DARK?'
And dark it was. A candlelit banquet for about 40 of us under the full moon in a courtyard. I sat next to a Belgian man in a kilt on one side; a Brit in a Moroccan djellaba just opposite, and made sure I drank one glass of water to every glass of wine so I didn't have booze breath, only a few hours after the party ended, hiccup, on the school run.
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