Baby Talk: The Dan tribe speaks

Big brother Ya'ir and the freshly one-year-old twins have taken over their Ima's column this week.

By AMANDA DAN
October 15, 2006 13:46
3 minute read.
twins 88 298

twins 88 298. (photo credit: )

 
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Ya'ir: There have been so many occasions to eat cake recently! Best of all, the babies just had their first birthday so we had cake and candles. Ima put a pink candle on a piece for Kinneret, a blue candle on a piece for Yaron and a yellow candle on my piece. She said that when I turn three in January, I'll get lots more candles. Yay! Before that, on Rosh Hashana, we had cake and candles too, but the candles weren't on the cake, so it was less fun. And then we had Yom Kippur: No cake, yes candles. Very little fun. Before Yom Kippur, Abba explained to me that he'll be in the synagogue all day praying and fasting. He asked me if I want to come with him. I went with him on Rosh Hashana to hear the shofar (toot-toot!) and asked him if there's going to be another shofar this time. He said yes, but just at the end and then they'll sing "Hatikva" too. Most of the time it's just praying. I like to sing "Hatikva" (especially in the middle of our morning meeting at my new preschool), but didn't like the praying part last time, so I said no. Abba asked if I'll come with him next time and I said I'll go when I'm big. "When will you be big?" said Abba. I looked at him and said, "When I have hair on my arms and legs and belly." Abba said if that's the case, he'll be going to synagogue alone for a long time. Kinneret: It's hard being the only girl and I've done my best to keep everyone on their toes. Sure, I get the best clothes and I'm obviously the cutest, but it is rather hard to crawl in a dress. So I'm working on walking; Ima, Abba and Ya'ir clap and sing every time they see me standing. Soon I'll leave Yaron in the dust. It's nice to have people sing to me for doing something good. Originally, I had found a different way to make people pay attention to me, me, me: The louder I screamed, the faster they came running and saved me from my evil bed, or some other dastardly situation. But then Yaron and I were ripped from the cocoon of our home and we started to go to Ya'ir's old daycare with Etti and Rafi. Unlike Yael, our stay-at-home nanny, they don't seem to care if I scream. So I tried screaming harder, and screamed, and screamed. I pulled out all the stops for a couple weeks at this new, unfamiliarly orderly daycare: a hunger strike, no sleeping - just screaming! For the first week, either Savta or Ima stayed with me so Etti and Rafi could get to know the other kids. Ha! My victory was short-lived and soon I realized that it's not so bad here. We sing songs and go play in the yard outside. We get to play with other kids (I already have an older boyfriend). And I discovered that it is fun to eat things other than cottage cheese. Who knew?! Don't tell anyone, but I'm starting to actually like it. Yaron: Phew! Now that we've started daycare, Kinneret finally has other people to pick on. Ya'ir and I are sick and tired of her pulling our hair. She's just jealous. But once she grows her own, I'll show her. Ima says we have a snot factory at home. She says that I'm the general manager, Ya'ir is my assistant and Kinneret is in charge of marketing. If only the snot were oil, she says, we'd be rich! She says we kids are bankrupting the family with all the Kleenex we're using on our noses, so now we use handkerchiefs. Much better. I can't help it; it's because I have a small nose, says the jolly doctor. He says to run the humidifier every night and clean my nose with salt water every once in a while. I don't like that - and I let everyone know it. Unlike Kinneret, I've found that the best way to get what you want is not by screaming all the time. Merely screaming some of the time. I generally go with the flow, shanti, shanti. But Ima says I'm like the Incredible Hulk ("Don't make me angry, you won't like me when I'm angry"), 'cause I can go from gentleman to raging bull in seconds. I may be quiet, but I'm crafty. The writer is a mother of three-in-diapers. amanda@jpost.com

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