Sleep, don’t post

Wow. I just deleted a post that I wrote last night, and which provided a fairly decent illustration of why one should not post things to the internet when one is under the influence of sleep aids. It wasn’t incriminating or anything, but it was fairly unpleasant, and somewhat hostile. It was about the election, of course, which thankfully is now over, so to quote Dave Barry from many years ago, you can turn your televisions back on. I, however, will not turn my television on, but will drink coffee and attempt to work.

Update about 20 minutes later: I will now feel sick as a dog because I have really, really not been enjoying my coffee lately. Ugh. Plus my Chocolate Brownie Zbar tasted really strange, as if it were spiked with liqueur, which would be problematic for any number of reasons, not the least of which being that it made me feel sicker. Bleeeechhhh.

You know, not that this (to my knowledge) has anything to do with my feeling sick, but my sleep medications are really messing me up, and it’s ticking me off. If I take only pill #1, I fall asleep early but keep waking up. If I also take pill #2, I don’t keep waking up, and in fact don’t wake up when I’m actually supposed to, and frequently end up going back to sleep when I’m supposed to be awake. I’m already on a dosage so small I practically have to pick it up with tweezers. Feh. But if I don’t take it, I keep waking up, and how does that help anyone? Though I suppose it’s better than when I wasn’t taking pill #1 either, because then I couldn’t fall asleep at all. But if the point is supposed to be to help me get enough sleep so I can function like a normal human being, well, it isn’t working, you know? Feh. I said that already.

Hey, way more than 20 minutes has now passed. I was working, and emailing people for updates on their storm damage, and scheduling parent-teacher conferences. Also working.

At least one person I know voted for Obama ONLY because of his views on abortion.

At least one person I know voted for Romney ONLY because of his views on Israel.

At least one person I know thinks that various things Obama plans to do (real things, not conspiracy theory things) are likely to bring this country to permanent ruin.

At least one person I know thinks that various things Romney planned to do (real things, not conspiracy theory things) were likely to bring this country to permanent ruin.

At least one person I know thinks Romney is absolutely perfect and that not one thing Romney says or does can legitimately be criticized at all (yes, at all).

At least one person I know thinks Obama is absolutely perfect and that not one thing Obama says or does can legitimately be criticized at all (yes, at all).

At least one person I know did not vote because of profound dislike of both candidates.

At least one person I know did not vote because of lack of confidence in his/her ability to make the right choice.

At least one person I know is not working right now because she is posting to her blog.

At least that many. But why? One might think I shouldn’t be either, seeing as how my power came back after only two days, and most people I know are still out, and we have enough food and enough gas in one of our cars that we don’t really have to worry about anything, yet. The power came back on in RS’s school on Friday, so that will be all normal again — the other schools were only out for one day — and even though some of us were feeling quite sick on and off the other day, it seems to have passed (I think), so that’s good too, plus my house suffered no damage at all. So what’s my problem? Who knows. I definitely have survivor’s guilt; G and I both do, from the moment the power came back on just as we were packing up to leave. Sucks. Believe me, we’re not complaining that it’s on, we just don’t quite know what to do with the fact that it suddenly and bewilderingly came on when everyone else’s is still off. We’ve offered people to stay here but no one is so far. BFFR was about to but then her power came back too. So there’s that weird helpless feeling of not knowing why something good happened to you and not to other people who deserve it more and need it just as much, which is upsetting, especially when there’s so little you can do to help them. I’m also upset that my friend AW has no power and got sick, but she can’t come stay with us on account of her psychotic dog. Feh. And my Elder Sister is still being held prisoner by her job, though she did get to go home for Shabbos (to her cold dark house), and BFFD is in town for one day but I’m not going to get to see her or take her to the airport (on account of the gas shortage, see), and I’m mad and cranky and stressed and overwhelmed for any one of 10,000 reasons, but I don’t know why, not really. At least Babysitter Allison did get to close on her house and didn’t have to cancel her bridal shower, and I got to meet Ryan’s mother and sister, so there’s that. And per my son’s assessment, the house is “SOOO gorgeous.” Though it doesn’t have power yet either. I’m trying to ignore my baby, but I’m not succeeding, and now she’s sitting next to me demanding to watch videos on my phone. Remind me later to list her baby talk words, they’re really cute.

That was supposed to be a hilarious reference to “Look at me, I’m Sandra Dee,” you know, from Grease, because that’s the closest thing I know of to a song with the name Sandy in it. You know, like Hurricane Sandy. Get it? Hahaha! Hey, maybe I shouldn’t be wasting my cell phone battery telling stupid jokes.

I’ve discovered my house looks much nicer in candlelight, and even nicer in total darkness. That is, until you try to walk, at which point you trip over something. But wow, what a letdown this morning, when the sun (or the dim grayness, rather) came up and all the horrible mess was visible again. Now we’re back to candlelight. Much better.

Also, freshly cut wood (by which I mean, trees that have been freshly snapped in half/blown to shreds) smells really nice. Woodsy, you know? Like wood? Woodsy?

It’s really cold. But thank God it isn’t unbearably cold. Bright side, see? It could be soooo much worse. We could have lost our home, for example, or we could have flooded. I keep trying to remember that not having power is really small potatoes. We really are lucky, though inconvenienced, but lucky.

Think there’s enough hot water in the tank for me to shower? The prospect of it going cold in the middle is enough to make me say forget it, I’ll just stay dirty. No one can tell in the candlelight anyway.

Two of our kids’ three schools are open tomorrow. So we’re sending them. That ought to restore some normalcy, or at least get them out and away from the cold and the lack of tv. And get them away from me. Also important.

Babysitter Allison was supposed to close on her house today. Oops.

My sister turned 40 yesterday. Oops. She spent it stranded somewhere with her evacuated mental patients. Like I said last time this happened — that’s what you get for working in a care profession. Poor Dee. Poor patients. I hope they’re ok, wherever they are. I hope Ahti and Ryan get to close on their house soon. I hope the power comes back soon, and that new trees grow, and that the people who lost everything are able to rebuild. Hey, my battery is so disappearing. Have a good night.

Here I am on the train on the way to work, at 11:21 AM, using my phone as a WiFi hotspot so I can get online with my computer, writing this instead of working, because maybe if I get these things out of my head I’ll be able to focus better on my work. Maybe.

Hey, you know what YS said recently? We were in the outerboro for my nephew’s bar mitzvah, and we were walking back from shul on Friday night, and these two little girls who belonged to another simcha were walking in front of us, and one of them was wearing a crown, and the following conversation ensued:

Me: You must be a princess. I can tell because you’re wearing a crown.

Little girl: I AM a princess, and so is she. We’re cousins and friends.

Me: Oh, so you’re definitely both princesses, because all princesses are related. [I was just saying that to make conversation.]

YS: Well, most of them, anyway. Especially in Europe.

Hee.

Anyway, that’s not why I’m here. I’m here to ponder the following series of questions.

Does “surrender” mean the same thing as “give up?” Can a person surrender without admitting defeat? Is there such a thing? Can surrendering to a situation be an act of strength?

You know the serenity prayer, or rather the oft-quoted and widely commercialized abbreviated version of such, that says “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference”?

[I really don't like putting end punctuation outside quotation marks. It's the way I was taught, but my understanding is that it's no longer done that way, but really, in a case like this, shouldn't it be? I've taught myself not to like it and to correct it when I see it, but really, it seems like the right thing to do in this case. I feel so torn.]

So, the serenity prayer. What do you do when the thing you cannot change is something that’s inherently unacceptable? For example, I can “accept,” in theory, that there’s such a thing as evil and there’s nothing anyone can do about it. But in that case, by “accept,” I mean “ignore.” It’s not ok that people are evil and do horrible evil things to innocent women, men and children. I don’t feel serene about that at all. So I don’t accept it in a way that suggests it’s ok with me and that I’m fine with it being that way. But I “accept” it in that I know I can’t do anything about it, and thinking about it freaks the hell out of me, so I do my best not to think about it. That’s a form of acceptance, right? Or avoidance? Those are closely related, aren’t they?

But what about when it’s something it’s impossible to ignore? And it’s something unacceptable, but something I cannot change? Can I accept that it’s going to be unacceptable forever, and it’s never going to change? What does accept even mean? Leave it that way and go on with serenity? That doesn’t seem ok, does it? But if it can’t be changed, what good does it do to not accept it? Do I surrender? Do I give up? Do I pursue serenity in some other way, such as hard alcohol or drugs?

Yeah, this isn’t helping. I still can’t concentrate. I can probably change that via other means, though, so I’m going to muster the courage God grants me, and go ahead and do so.

Apparently I kept the following brief notes during our road trip:

I have discovered that I not only have zero interest in Civil War history, but that I don’t even understand why anyone would have an interest in Civil War history. Is it the effects of Gone With the Wind, which bred my complete and utter disgust and revulsion for anything and everything related to the Old South?

Remind me that I hate the playground in Terre Haute. It is so insanely blazingly hot, every. Freaking. Time.

The water in Indianapolis is slimy and gross.

There’s a drought going on in the Midwest.

I might start insisting on free-range beef.

Why haven’t I been wearing flip-flops my entire life?

Mountains are beautiful from far away but I pretty much hate them up close. Especially mountains that have cities and farms in them. Ugh.

We always pass all these various types of weird shops and outlet malls and antiques dealers and G never lets me go to them. On the other hand, I have no interest whatsoever in acquiring more kaka to bring into my home. But still.

There’s something incredibly final, as well as sad, about crossing the time zone border in Indiana on our way back home. It’s much less sad than it was before we had Shabbos in Cleveland with my sister to look forward to, but it still sort of drops something heavy inside me.

That might be all you’re getting on the road trip this year, sorry. Just too much stuff happening and no time at all.

I am here for the single expressed purpose of stating that I must, absolutely must, be sure to wean myself off caffeine during the week leading up to next Yom Kippur. I didn’t do it for Tisha B’Av this year and it was fine. Headache, but nothing awful. So I didn’t do it for Yom Kippur either, and OH. My. GOD. Though I don’t think it was only the result of caffeine withdrawal, but obviously that didn’t help. It was like having someone tighten a wrench around my head. Brutal, inescapable screaming headache that wasn’t helped by lying down, or closing my eyes, or standing up, or opening my eyes…. OUCH. I think I was in shul for even less time this year than when I was pregnant with the Boy. If God forgave me for anything, it was totally coincidental. I have the strangest, most uncomfortable feeling. Not really having Yom Kippur is extremely unsettling. Will it count if I go read through the machzor now? I love the avodah. I miss having been in shul for the avodah. It’s my favorite davening of the entire year, and of life in general. My mother thinks that’s weird. I think it’s completely natural and only makes sense, and that everyone should feel the same way.

Anyway I want to record how bad this was, so there will be no chance of my forgetting or neglecting to wean myself off caffeine next year. Because occasionally when I’m bored and/or unable to sleep I re-read parts of my blog (you should totally try it too if you have trouble sleeping), so writing this down here is my best bet for making an impression on myself.

HEY SELF: NO CAFFEINE NEXT YEAR FOR THE ENTIRE WEEK BEFORE YOM KIPPUR. REMEMBER THE HEADACHE. REMEMBER THE WRENCH. REMEMBER THE TORTURE. REMEMBER MISSING THE AVODAH AND G’S SPEECHES AND NOT BEING ABLE TO DAVEN. REMEMBER HOW AWFUL THAT WAS. REMEMBER THE ALAMO. NO CAFFEINE. NO CAFFEINE.

No caffeine.

Ok then.

Of course I would have missed the avodah anyway, because the shul babysitters were gone before then and the babysitter we’d hired to be at our house did not show (heh), so I had to take care of ST, but still, headache headache headache. NO CAFFEINE.

See you in a few months.

I never like to let negative posts like the previous one linger at the top for so long. Temporary explosive situations that have me screaming into the computer out of frustration shouldn’t spend so much time being “current.”

So it’s the 9 Days now, and I didn’t finish the laundry. Want to know why? Because I had no energy. Physical energy, I mean. Laundry takes physical energy, and I had none. Even the loads that were done haven’t been folded. That also takes physical energy, but I actually don’t mind folding — it’s the putting away that I can’t stand. At least RS can do hers herself. One might argue that the twins, being almost ten years old, also “could” do theirs themselves, but let’s just say that I much prefer expending the effort myself to witnessing what becomes of my beautifully folded piles if I leave it to them. Heh. One might also argue that I should start some sort of exercise regimen, and/or modify my diet, and/or get more sleep, so as to increase my energy level. One would be right to argue thus. I’m waiting for something to make it clear to me that I need to start taking my health seriously. I’m hoping the “something” will be a mature realization of what it means to be an adult, rather than “something” else.

ST goes to camp. Want to see a picture of her climbing a bouncy inflatable thing?

Heehee. Want to see a picture of her running along a fountain in London?

Heehee. Want to see a picture of her on a bus in London, making her “silly face”?

Heehee. For a few weeks, that was also her “yes” face. Meaning, instead of nodding her head for “yes” as she had been doing until that point, when she wanted to say yes she would make that face. It was hilarious. Over the last few days, however, she seems to have gone back to nodding.

Want to see a picture of her rubbing sand all over herself at a gigantic awesome playground in London?

Heehee. Want to see a picture of her rolling around on her back with her legs up in the air in the lobby of our hotel?

Heehee. I think that was the lobby of our hotel. Don’t know where else it might have been, though in theory it could have been anywhere. Anywhere in London, I mean.

Ok, are we done looking at pictures of my baby? Should I insert one of my whole family? Should I get over my issues regarding posting pictures of my kids on the stupid Internet? No, I do not believe I should. Should I attempt to white out their faces, and then post a picture of my whole family? Hmm. Ok, yes I will.

So, there you have it. The Boy, G, three faceless girls, myself, and ST. At the Tower of London. With Tower Bridge in the background, with the Olympic rings on it. They had just been put up the day before. We had a private tour of the Tower of London, you know, before it was open to the public. This is because we were in London courtesy of Make-A-Wish. This is because my daughter had a stroke. A real live Beefeater — a.k.a. Yeomen Warder — took that picture. Did you know the dudes who guard the palace(s) — the ones with the giant furry hats — are not the Beefeaters, the Tower of London dudes are. They’re the ones who wear the silly uniforms, thusly:

That’s Colin. Nice guy. He gave us our private tour, then this other dude gave us a private tour of the Crown Jewels, then this lady gave us a private tour of the White Tower. Awesome.

I think it might be time to get the kitchen together, you know, in preparation for Shabbos… and maybe fold some laundry… or not. Shabbat shalom.

YS refuses to eat. I’m going to kill myself. Seriously, she ate two pieces of baby corn and a bag of nacho chips for lunch at camp today, and half a piece of corn on the cob and a slice of red pepper for dinner tonight. I am willing to buy and/or cook her anything she wants. It doesn’t help. It doesn’t work. I can’t handle it. I’m going to die. What am I supposed to do? Take her to an eating disorder clinic? She’s nine years old. Plus, I can’t. I simply can’t. But she refuses to eat. I’m going to kill myself. I said that already.

She also hates camp. I don’t think the others especially like it either. They’re too old for day camp anyway. None of them is cut out for overnight camp. I don’t know what to do.

I got really sick at work today. Every time I feel sick I feel compelled to tell people I’m not pregnant. Naturally, now that I’ve done this so many times, everyone at work thinks I’m pregnant. My gigantic fat belly doesn’t help.

The girls were supposed to clean their room and bathroom today when they got home. They knew this. They didn’t do it. When G started reminding them they didn’t listen. Then suddenly R magically became dizzy and insisted she had a HORRIBLE headache (emphasis hers), and made quite an amusing show of staggering around the house moaning. Actually it wasn’t amusing at all, it made me want to scream, but I had no energy to scream, so I didn’t. YS suddenly became overcome with her latest miserable emotion that she HAD to share with me, right then. Which left RS to clean the bathroom and their room. World War III then broke out. I couldn’t handle it and I screamed at everyone. I was unfair to all of them and didn’t listen and still won’t. Because I’m completely fed up. They’re making me crazy.

I need sleep. Maybe that will help. Maybe when I wake up they’ll be cute and little and adorable and sweet again, and their “problems” won’t be any more complicated or difficult than trying to figure out what to do with their hair. I don’t look back at the hair battles fondly, but oh God, I would take them now. Yes, I know this is how it works. They don’t stay cute and little and sweet and easy forever. But you know what, I can’t take this. At least I couldn’t tonight. But tomorrow is a new day. Maybe I’ll visit Tara.

In case you didn’t know, Rosh Hashanah begins with the Three Weeks. Actually it begins with Rosh Chodesh Tamuz. And if you don’t believe me, explain why every year I get back-to-school-sale emails before July even begins.

I wrote most of this yesterday during the fast. You can tell because I say a lot of things about the fast. Such as this: Ow. Ow. My head hurts. Ow. Ow. I hate fasting. Ow. Ow. Ow.

We’re back from London! Got back Thursday afternoon. I recall telling G I had to lie down, and next thing I knew it was 2:30 AM Friday morning/Thursday night. Anyway, the trip was amazing, even though the Bevis Marks Synagogue was closed when we got there and we ended up stuck in the cold and the rain trying (and failing) to figure out what to do next, and even though we arrived at Windsor Castle one minute (yes, one minute) after it closed and they wouldn’t let us in. Feh. But the rest was amazing, and an amazing experience, and here I am saying “amazing” over and over again like a teenager, and we’ll just attribute that to my lack of food/drink/CAFFEINE and the resultant headache and mental weakness. OW.

Know what yesterday (um, two days ago) was? I’ll give you a hint. July 7 three years ago was probably the worst day of my life. And my family’s life. Ok then.

ST is 20 months old today (um, yesterday).

Having stayed in two different London hotels, I now consider myself an expert, and as such shall share the following observations, to be appended to those I shared earlier:

• Hotel rooms in London have very few electrical outlets, and none of them are near the beds or in the bathrooms.
• Hotel bathroom light switches in London are outside the actual bathrooms. Or toilets, since in England bathrooms are called toilets (see previous post).
• Hotels in London do not have ice machines or ice buckets, so if you have no refrigerator in your room and you were planning to keep milk or food overnight by using ice from the ice machine, you are, as they say in London, out of luck. (Ok, I don’t know if they say that in London or not.)
• Toiletries in hotel rooms in London are scented. There isn’t hand soap; there’s scented hand cleansing gel. There’s no shampoo or conditioner; there’s scented foaming hair and body wash. I happened to enjoy the scents, so this was fine with me, but I took special note of it because I plan to bring my mother to London at some point, and she can’t handle anything scented, including food. This may not just be a hotel thing, by the way. We bought some dish soap, and it was scented like eucalyptus.

Here are more observations about London in general:

• There are no clocks in London, except on the towers of really old buildings. So I figure either the British think clocks are too special to be put just anywhere, or they figure there are so many on the old buildings that it isn’t necessary to put them anywhere else. I just used “figure” twice in the same sentence. See above re caffeine, fasting, etc.
• There are a lot of pigeons in London.
• People in London like to feed the pigeons. (My son and ST, however, like to chase and scare the pigeons.)
• Lots of stores in London sell alcoholic beverages. Is this because there’s no such thing as liquor licenses?  I wonder, but not enough to look it up.
• There are a lot of pubs in London.
• There are a lot of double-decker buses in London.

Now I shall stop making observations about London, and instead I shall go to sleep. Good night.

Or not. July 4 is coming, after all.

A week ago Monday night (12 days ago? maybe) I wrote this:

Wish granters come tomorrow night to give us R’s “wish package.” Supposedly we will then find out what, precisely, it is we’re doing in London. We will then have six days, assuming you include Shabbos, to prepare our family of seven for a ten-day overseas trip. Know what I discovered? It’s generally in the mid-60s in London. That doesn’t complicate packing at all.  And if you don’t realize that was sarcastic, and if you don’t understand why it was sarcastic, then to paraphrase Dave Barry, you are, no offense, probably a male.

My son finished three-year-old nursery. My twins are about to finish fourth grade. My first-born is about to finish fifth grade. I am about to finish editing the Holocaust memoir. Maybe. Do you know how bad the cover design tool on this website is? So bad I can’t even describe it.

ST likes to march back and forth across my backyard, over and over and over again. Then she likes to stop and wave at the empty spot where last week, she saw Bailey the doggie standing. Last week she waved at him. Today he wasn’t there so she waved at his ghost. He’s not dead, though. He was just not there.

My son made me not one, but TWO beaded necklaces. I’m supposed to wear them both all the time, except when I sleep, and I’m only supposed to wear one of them in the shower, because the other one is not supposed to get wet. Indeed, I wore them both all day. I don’t know if he’s going to be pleased if I don’t wear them to work tomorrow. Maybe I just will.

It’s going to be 97 degrees on Wednesday. Seriously?? Can we go to London now?

Ok, that’s the end of what I wrote then. Guess where I am now? Go on, guess. LONDON!!!  God save our gracious queen!! Should that be capitalized? As in, God save our gracious Queen? Technically I think it shouldn’t be, because it doesn’t say “God save our gracious Queen Elizabeth II,” but maybe it should be anyway, because it’s not like we don’t know to whom we’re referring. Who knows. Point is: London!!!  Know what this place is? Crowded. And dirty. And also? Old. I mean it’s not like it feels old, because it is packed tight with large steel and glass buildings and cars (driving on the wrong side of the road — weird), but it’s also packed tight with random statues of random people/mythical figures, and giant stone-like buildings with tons of pointy towers and reliefs (that’s what they’re called, right?) and statues stuck all over them, and that part does feel old. Cool, too. Also, the place seems to have no rhyme or reason when it comes to urban planning. Maybe I’m wrong, and definitely I don’t have the knowledge or vocabulary to talk about this in any manner that resembles intelligent, but unlike glorious Manhattan (ha), whose streets were designed on a grid, at least outside that frightening surreal portion whose name “Manhattan” is preceded by “lower,” London appears to have not been designed at all. I get the sense of a whole lot of buildings — a LOT of buildings — having been built at whatever random place a person saw some empty ground, and then when the building was finished, the person looked around and said “Hmm, now we need to get some sort of road put in front of this building.” Seriously, the buildings all face different directions, there are teeny crisscrossing roads and alleyways and gigantic multi-lane streets spewing cars all over the place where you least expect it, and it is SO crowded. But not congested, really. Hard to explain. And for all I know I’m doing a lousy job attempting to describe something that everyone already knows, as if I’m the first person in the world to have discovered it, like if someone visited Israel and said “You know what? There are a lot of hills around here.” But still, this isn’t something I necessarily knew about London before. Also, there’s this gigantic river that sort of slices right through the place, and there are tons of bridges (none falling down, though! hahaha!!) and boats (mostly tour boats, near as I could tell) and TONS of people, only a few of whom are speaking English, and many, many of whom appear to have come from countries that have a fairly monolithic wardrobe for women, if you get my drift. Heh. And there are so many shades of color. Not in the wardrobes; I mean, on people. It seriously feels like every corner of the earth is represented in London, much more so than in New York, at least to my eyes. I’m not sure I really appreciated how many different shades the good Lord applied when creating this wondrous human race.

Hey, I just shared my original lack-of-urban-planning observation with G, and he said “Well sure, it’s an ancient city,” and then he qualified “ancient” with something or other, and then HE made the comparison to lower Manhattan, as though HE were the one who thought of it. Feh. He also said he thinks the roads developed organically, and that the buildings followed, and as such are stuck everywhere there happened to have been space. Right, so it’s like I figured. Though not like what I wrote above, because that didn’t necessarily describe what I actually figured. Ok then.

So, the exciting thing is that I’m working on a loooooooooooong play-by-play of every single thing that’s happened since we left our home last Monday afternoon. So you’ll get that, eventually, maybe, assuming I can catch up to myself and it doesn’t drag on indefinitely, which it might. But in the meantime, here’s the short list of what we’ve done:

• Platform 9¾
• Trafalgar Square
• Bus tour
• Boat ride
• London Aquarium (which is not called the London Aquarium, but who cares)
• Madame Tussaud’s
• Shabbos in Golders Green
• Ridden the Underground (a lot)
• Eaten kosher sandwiches purchased at King’s Cross St. Pancras
• Eaten a gigantic, ridiculously delicious, ridiculously fun, absurdly expensive (but we aren’t paying for it!) meal at a lovely restaurant
• Lost my phone. Craig, we can chat about this later. Heh. 

In addition to what I described above, here are some more general things I’ve observed about London these last five days:

• The toilets have, like, no water.
• The toilets are, like, impossible to flush.
• The signs that intend to indicate restrooms say “Toilets” instead of “Restrooms.”
• The Underground is not air-conditioned, though the stations generally are.
• The hotels do not have clocks.
• The weather is weird and unpredictable.
• There’s a queen.
• The Olympics are apparently going to take place here shortly.
• Wimbledon is apparently taking place here now, unless it’s concluded, in which case Wimbledon was taking place here until just now.

Ok then. Hey, I said that already. So, since Shabbos here in England is over absurdly late, it’s now absurdly late, though in NY it’s only 7:27 PM, which I know because the clock on my computer — the only way I have to tell time at present, since I lost my phone and the hotel rooms here do not have clocks — says so. So, shavua tov, and if you’re good I’ll fill you in on everything else some other time.

The most immediate crisis, by which I mean lack of an awesome giant rainbow umbrella, has not yet been resolved. But the other most immediate crisis, by which I mean insane, intense social drama involving pre-teen girls, has been resolved. For the moment. Thank God, and thank the outstanding, stellar professionals at my daughter’s school. Like, oh. My. God. They are amazing. And they were so supportive, and helpful, and they saved my child’s happiness, at  least for this week (so far), and I’m no longer spending an hour each night comforting a sobbing little girl, who really isn’t so little, and for whom I know these sorts of things are (probably) just beginning. Ugh. I really, reeeeeaaaaaaally hope I learn to sleep, even while they’re going on.

The less immediate, not-quite-crisis involving one of my other daughters, and the ongoing set of crises involving another one of my daughters, are not yet resolved. Much like my lack of rainbow umbrella. You know back when I had my rainbow umbrella, my coworker suggested I might be making a statement of support for the gay community? Seriously? Is that the only thing rainbows are used for? How about just being cheery and colorful, especially when it’s raining buckets in a giant concrete jungle? But I suppose I can’t really blame my coworker. A member of her immediate family is gay, and so I suppose that particular use of the rainbow is never far from her mind. But it’s not like my two friends whose mothers suffered from breast cancer think everything that’s pink is all about breast cancer. But I don’t think I would want a pink umbrella. Know what kind of umbrella I want? RAINBOW.

I have so much to do before London, I’m going to die. Or maybe I won’t. My son graduated 3-year-old nursery today, yay. And my baby is adorable, also yay. And Babysitter Allison’s house purchase probably fell through and BFFA’s house purchase might fall through, and BFFD hasn’t found a job yet, not yay. But BFFR continues to kick body parts at her job, and I continue to love my job, yay. And major exciting something in the works for someone who never reads my blog (yes, you), biggest, fattest yay that ever was. Good night.