OLD.

‘Booba, what’s wrong with your back?’

My very tactile 9 year old grand-daughter had climbed into the snug space between the chair back and my back, as she likes to do, when she asked me this.

She put her hand on my upper back, near the nape.

‘Why is it like that?’

‘Like what?’

‘Like’- she nimbly wriggled out from behind me and stood so I could see her, and then hunched her shoulders and stuck her chin forward- ‘that.’

Oh.

My posture.

My ‘rounded shoulders’.

My delightfully named ‘dowager’s hump’.

My age.

About 5 years ago, ever the observant one, she pointed to my arms and said:

‘Booba, what’s that?’

‘What’s what? My arms?’

‘Yes your arms! They’re so – squishy!’

Quick inspection and shake of upper arms. Correct assessment. Squish factor high. And wobble also.

‘Well, umm, that’s what happens when you are a booba. You …grow…wings! Because, because…boobas can FLY!’

‘REALLY?’

‘Well…not really…not yet... Hey, look at that pretty princess in that book! How about I read you a story!’

But for a year or so after that, she kept poking my upper arms – through my sleeves and all- and asking when I would fly.

Right now, as I sit here at the keyboard, my right knee hurts, and my thumb joints hurt and my left hip hurt so much all day that I had to give in and take some ibuprofen. And I have recently recovered from a nasty tendinitis of my right wrist. My tummy’s gurgling and I have heartburn. I just had all the kids and grandchildren over for dinner and I did a barbecue, and that kind of food does me no favours. Not to mention the effect of the ibuprofen. Please, Gd, no reflux tonight, OK? I’ll take a Pariet if I have to.

The hip thing. I’ve been to my massage therapist, and an osteopath, and I do stretches, and it comes and goes. It affects my gait at times, and my 79-year-old Mother-in-law has pointed out, correctly, that I walk like an old woman! She, of course, does not.

One area of my gum is swollen, and when I brush my (yellowed) teeth like crazy, or press on it with my finger, there is an icky taste. Despite my regular visits to dentist and periodontist. And no doubt, along with the icky taste is an icky smell. An old person smell. But one can’t smell oneself, so I’m just making an educated guess.

I don’t want to talk about my lady bits, and what my father would have called ‘women’s trouble’. But there’s trouble.

I am 59.

When my mother was my age, she walked with a stick and she had an upper denture. And a pronounced dowager’s hump. She was OLD.

When my grandmother was my age, she had been dead for 4 years. I never knew her.

It seems that the women in my maternal line don’t age well.

As for my paternal line- who knows, most were murdered by the Nazis. My dad was kind of sprightly until his late  70’s and then went downhill with a whoosh.

But I’m a Baby Boomer! We’re supposed to stay young forever!

When did this all start happening?!

About 15 years ago I went to a dermatologist with one of my kids and while I was there, I pointed to my right upper eyelid which had gone a bit crinkly, and asked, what’s going on here? I just noticed this a few days ago, like, what’s up with that? And the doctor laughed in my face. He thought I was joking about the effects of age on my skin, as if it was a joking matter.

And that’s what it was, ageing skin. And I look after my skin, you should know. I use sunscreen, and have ever since it was invented, which was actually too late for me because I was in my late teens by then, and had had a few decent sunburns. But I don’t give up easily; I use sunscreen every day. That’s probably why I’m low in Vitamin D. So I take supplements.

And I swim, and I do water aerobics, and I have a personal trainer and I lift weights.

But in spite of Pilates past, and yoga, and zumba, and bellydancing, I have an old lady hump and old lady joints and old lady breath and wrinkly eyes and wobbly bits. And the wings: Sorry, dear grand-daughter, I was kidding; they can’t fly me anywhere. They just kind of flap and wobble, despite all the laps in the pool and the weights in gym.

It’s not fair. It’s excruciating.

But at least I’m still here to complain about it all. And it only gets worse!  Great!

I conclude with the immortal words of Paul Newman: ‘Getting old ain’t for sissies.’

I'll try not to be such a sissy then. 

Nanna, not nanny.

A strange thing is happening to me as I get older; I think more and more of my parents, my mother especially. I think of how I never had any grandparents, and on top of that, my mother did not live long enough to be a grandmother to my children. So it turns out that I have had no role models for being a grandmother, and I don't know how to be one; I'm learning on the job. I have ruminated about this before but it's not over.

So recently I had a piece published on Kveller which drew down some wrath from 2 major groups: those in defence of Stay At Home Moms (SAHM) (read on and you will see why); and some other grandmothers who berated me for not appreciating the wonder and privilege of being a grandmother. Without exception, the irate grannies had 1-2 little grandkids and not a whole passel, as I do thank G-d. And I certainly DO appreciate the privilege and honour! I'm not complaining! G-d forbid!

I thought I would publish again, but this time without the edits imposed. Let's see if it makes things better or worse! I must warn you that I will be exploring the Grandmother theme again, basically until I get it out of my system.

Here goes:

I know this lady, let’s call her Eva, who has several grown children, all of whom have blessed her with grandchildren. She cannot do enough for them. Whenever I see her she is about to pick her daughter’s children up from school, or take her son’s to the dentist, or is planning a big birthday bash for one of them, or taking the home for baths and dinner, and she seems very happy to do this. One time she was limping after she had an injury, but there she was, on her way to school pickup. She is a retired SAHM. Her kids have careers or jobs, although one daughter-in-law doesn’t, and she clearly has no sense of being used. Which I think she is.

I always look at her with a mixture of pity and awe.

We are very different. She is a sweet sort of lady and I am not. I’m not a gooey, super-affectionate type. I’m into competence and capability and problem-solving and have had to teach myself to be less Mr Spock (as my children used to refer to me) and more Mr Rogers, so to speak, more empathetic and emotionally responsive. I also have a profession which I have always practiced less than full-time since becoming a mother, but it still keeps me pretty busy.

So when my kids started having kids, well, at first, no problem because the first crop lived overseas, so all I had to do was visit a few times a year bearing gifts, and Skype a little, which always gets tricky when the baby is old enough to start bashing the keyboard and trying to fling the laptop on to the floor. And phone calls with not much talking at first, apart from heavy breathing and the occasional ‘dah’ on the other end, evolving over the years to proper conversations and singing and being sung ‘Happy birthday to yoooo’. Just adorable.

But then they moved to Melbourne. And then some other kids did, and others got married, and now I have 7 grandchildren living here (and 4 overseas) thank G-d, they should all be well.

And slowly the demands started coming in; ever so gently, but they kept coming. Can I pick up from school? Something’s come up. Can I come to the house? The babysitter has to leave, the mum is held up. Can I do this? Can I go there? And remember that in 2 cases, I am the only accessible grandmother, because all but one of my kids married Americans, so I’m the Go-to Granny.

What to do? All I knew was that I did NOT want to be like Eva. I did not want to be hobbling around with a toddler in tow, on my way to pick up kids from school, and then bring them home and give them dinner and bath them so they would be in their jim-jams all nice and clean for Mummy to come and pick up. Every day.

No thank you. No matter how adorable my grandchildren are, believe me when I say that I have done my time in Mummyland, and I am all Mummied-out. My 7 th and last child was already rather sloppily mothered because I was kind of over it, and that was over 20 years ago.

I reflected on how much help I got from my mother when I had young children- sadly, almost none; she died when my eldest (twins) were 4, and she had been sick for some time before then. And from my mother-in-law? Zero. She had 3 daughters of her own who also were having kids, and I was just not on her list. My husband was working long hours so I had paid help or I had no help, but I was always strong and capable, and I got the job done, including after-school music lessons and swimming and sport etc.

And I won’t go back there.

BUT. I also know that I want to be a part of my grandchildren’s lives. So the time came to lay down some ground rules:

11    I will do anything in an emergency. I have taken kids to the emergency room when their mum is stuck with babies and dad is stuck in traffic. That’s life, stuff happens, and I will be there if at all possible.

  2   I will do pickups from school, or look after toddlers, but NOT every day and not so that mummy can go to Pilates. And I need at least 3 days notice, so I can clear my diary. (Emergencies excluded, refer to 1)

33    I will not be used as a regular babysitter, or a night time babysitter so mum and dad can go out. Get a high school kid. Make your own arrangements. I also like to go out for dinner, you know.

44   I respect a mum who is studying or working more than one who is a SAHM, sorry, so I will be more generous with bending the rules when the pressure is on with work deadlines or exams etc. Hate me if you want, but that’s how I feel. Please note, I do NOT disrespect any mother who is doing the hard work of mothering! And yes, all mums need a break from time to time. But surely there is an extra degree of difficulty if she is doing all the mum-stuff AND she has to sit exams or prepare a brief or deal with patients phoning after hours etc. (I know all about that!) I hope I make that clear; please don't hate me TOO much.

55   I will do stuff that I am good at and enjoy. I do not enjoy and neither am I good at, taking kids to the parks and playing boisterous ball games and chasey. I am not one of these youthful sprightly types. Fortunately, I am good at cooking so I will do pizza night once a week for all the families, and I will do Sunday brunch for anyone who comes, and Shabbat meals. I will even drop in dinners if mum is under the weather. I will also take every opportunity to read to the kids; it was my favourite thing to do with my own kids and it still is.

66   I will look after the kids, including having them move in and stay for days or weeks, if one or both parents have to go overseas for family reasons. That’s part of having daughters and sons-in-law from America. There are other families over there who also need to see their kids, there are weddings and simchas, and there are illness and funerals, and they have to go, so I will hold the fort, and have done so many times.

77    When we go on family vacations, I am not there to look after the kids while mummy and daddy have pina coladas on the beach. Do your research and find a local.

My late mother used to joke that she had a sign near the front door for when grandchildren came to visit. On one side was written ‘Baruch HaBah’ (Welcome). And when they left, she would flip it to the other side, which read ‘Baruch HaShem’ (Thank G-d). Not such a joke, really.

I have had my son and daughter-in-law and their 4 kids move into my home for 9 months while they were renovating their home. Yes, you read that right. NINE MONTHS. And we all worked together like a well-oiled machine. I mostly kept my mouth shut and didn’t bang on about the clutter and the general lack of organization, and we shared dinner preparations etc etc, and I read to the kids most nights which was such a pleasure. And it was work, though it really deepened my relationship with the kids; but OMG I was pleased to see them leave. Baruch HaShem.

So maybe Eva loves her life as a grandmother who seems to be doing a lot of the heavy lifting of parenting; but not this little black duck.

I wonder how many parents of young kids are using their own parents a little too freely, in a little too unthinking a manner. And I wonder how many grandparents are taking it, because they are guilted or otherwise manipulated into it.

Nothing is more important than family, and the happy chaos of family get-togethers is such a pleasure. But please, respect the grandparent-grandchild bond. Baruch HaBah! Baruch HaShem.

Happy 2015. I think.

I want to write. There is so much to write about ; so much happening; so many things I feel I need to comment on, elaborate on, explain, explore. But it's been weeks since I did anything but post comments on other people's work on Facebook.
Firstly, I was overseas, and I thought I could write on my phone; but that never happened because my phone, with its stupidly small memory (16 Gig iPhone 6 plus, don't even ask) didn't even want to take photos unless I made room by deleting half my apps. So nix on the blogging.
And then, there's all this other stuff that gets in the way of my creative life, like my children, all grown but still; and grandchildren; and husband (even on holiday it's always 'what are we doing for lunch? Dinner? What's the plan?' Make yourself a f***ing sandwich, you infantilised kitchen moron, I said to him NEVER.) And do you know what I will never, ever hear from him? Or anyone else? 'There you go, take a few uninterrupted hours to gather your thoughts and write. Unleash your creative wit! I'll take care of everything else, I'll answer the phone, I'll make sure you aren't interrupted every 5 minutes by other people's demands on you. Or my own.' That's NEVER going to happen. I know that.
(Right now, Sunday, I am sharing the study with my husband who has perfectly good earphones but still listens to music out loud, until I had to tell him to use the earphones or turn it off. I can't stand having music on while I work, especially some sucky crap that he was listening to. So blessed peace at last.)
And then the heartsink of it all. The state of the world, the murder of children, of innocents, by terrorist scum, and worse, the pretending that there's no specific anti-Semitism, or Islamism, it's just a bunch of criminal 'lone wolves' who all happen to be radicalised Muslims, all with the 'Allahu Akbar' and killing in the name of Islam. That the targeting of a kosher supermarket in a Jewish area of Paris by Muslim terrorists was not specifically anti-Semitic because Muslims also shop there. That the one Jewish woman killed in the Charlie Hebdo attack, among 13 men, was killed because she was a Jew; all the other women were spared, the killer even said that they don't kill women. So Jews being killed because they are Jews and THE WHOLE F***ING WORLD SHOULD STAND UP AND SAY 'THIS WILL NOT HAPPEN AGAIN!' BUT THEY DON'T. They hem and haw and find excuses. And the pope, the POPE! Defending the actions of the murderers of the Charlie Hebdo staff because 'If you insult my mother, expect a punch.' WTF??? So it's OK to kill satirists? Or anyone who insults or mocks or jokes about your religion? You bastard, I was just starting to like you what with the breastfeeding thing and all.
There are many other writers who are far more knowledgeable and articulate than I am; the number of articles I have read and reposted, and I'm sure that you have all read, is enormous. So what am I going to write about; I'm not a politician or a historian or a social demographer or a government official. I'm just a heartsick, angry Jew.

I just got back from travels to visit children and grandchildren. 18 days in Israel, 4 days in New York, and then, 3 days in Berlin. The Berlin bit was tacked on even though it makes little sense geographically because our ticket had us going through Frankfurt on the way home, and we have a friend in Berlin, Rabbi Yudi Teichtal, who had been nudging us to come visit for a while. It was no big deal to go from Frankfurt to Berlin; arrive Thursday, tour Friday, Shabbat started early, 4pm, then spend the Friday night dinner and Shabbat lunch with the rabbi and rebbetzin, and then fly out Sunday morning. Originally we were going to tour Sunday as well and fly out Monday, but hubby and I looked at each other and thought that too much Germanness would make our Second Generation Holocaust survivor heads explode, and we took the get-out-early option.

So on Friday, we took in a lot of touring. We had a Jewish guide who was excellent, Monica Puginier. Unfortunately the weather was inclement, very wet and windy, so we were hopping in and out of the car quick smart, but we started at Platform 17 and then on to the Brandenburg Gate, Unter Den Linden, Checkpoint Charlie, remnants of the Wall (now protected by a fence! Ha!), the rebuilt Golden Dome Synagogue (I can't remember the official title but it must have been something to see before it was destroyed on Kristallnacht), the Holocaust Memorial with all the concrete blocks (stelae) and museum, the Topography of Terror museum (dedicated to the history and rise of the Nazis and SS- no artefacts and nothing that you couldn't learn from the book we bought) and the Jewish Museum.
The Jewish museum was interesting in that it documented over 1,000 years of Jewish life in Germany (hey, we aren't called Ashkenazim for nothing, and it's no coincidence that Yiddish is so similar to German), and there was  also a special exhibit about Brit Milah (Circumcision) which was advertised so crassly that I was too offended to even look, apart from the fact that Shabbat was approaching and we were running out of time. The brochure had a picture of a circumcised banana with the caption 'Snip/it!' in English and something else in German. I could only surmise that the curator was not Jewish because I couldn't imagine a Jew taking that sort of flip approach to Brit Milah.

While we were at the Brandenburg Gate we saw the French Embassy in Unter den Linden; the tri-couleur flag was at half-mast- all the flags in the city were at half-mast- after the Charlie Hebdo massacre. There was a condolence book to sign and there were bouquets laid on the ground. And meanwhile, the Hyper-Cacher atrocity was being carried out.

A few hours later, the Rabbi picked us up and was telling us that his eldest son, a Yeshivah student in Brunoys, near Paris, had been stranded in Paris that afternoon, because the Metro had been shut down due to the terrorist attacks. He and his friends were trying to get back to the Yeshivah before Shabbat. He tried to flag down a taxi, but the cabs that stopped had Arab drivers and the boys were too scared to get in. Anyway, they managed to get back in time, much to the relief of the parents. And I reflected, what a strange day, when a Jew can feel safer in Berlin than in Paris.

As for our fear of Deutsche Freak-out Syndrome, it didn't happen. All the people we met were friendly and polite and nobody sounded like Hitler. We did stay at a fancy hotel (Kempinski Bristol- tiny bit of the Grand Hotel Budapest vibe, with the smartly liveried bellboys and excruciatingly helpful and polite concierge) and I tend to tip (even the Zimmer Madch left a little note saying 'Danke' - so I'm thinking I was tipping too much, but I don't care, a few extra euros won't make me poor and it won't make her rich, and I'm a one-per-center and whatever) so yes, everyone polite and friendly and also with the 'Shalom' and 'Boker tov', so in their minds all Jews are Hebrew speaking and might as well be Israeli. But all was well and the paranoia didn't get the better of me. After Shabbat we went with the Teichtals to a Schloss, talk about POINT one-percenters that used to own it, some nobility, with the high ceiling and huge fireplaces, oil paintings and damask wallpapers, ornate carvings and what-have-you, and we had drinks. We were greeted by an enormous liveried Aryan dude who shook the Rabbi's hand and bowed from the waist- I though he was going to click his heels and kiss my hand- and welcomed us warmly to the schloss, no irony detected, everyone is Rabbi T's friend, it seems! Amazing guy.

So Berlin was interesting. And Ms Angela Merkel is a good person. My kids are great. My grandchildren are adorable. But the world sucks.