Costco beats me down to the ground.
When David and I first got married we lived in student housing (“kollel” was never a word I was particularly comfortable with) in Alon Shevut. We stuffed that tiny apartment with all our American stuff — a big couch, a huge papison (if you were born after 1982, you may need a visual) a full size dining room table and hundreds of shelves that David all too happily drilled into the wall (it is David after all). We never realized how absolutely ludicrous it was to stuff our apartment until we were invited to our Israeli neighbors. Their apartment, exactly the same size as ours, was an exercise in minimalism. There was a tiny table, a miniature couch… and that’s it. We left feeling like silly overindulgent Americans (that only lasted until we sat down on our super comfy couch though).
Imagine my shock and feelings of inadequacy when I completely failed at my Costco run yesterday. Now to the untrained eye, I probably did ok. I had my ziploc bags (a true sign of having arrived) and some great cleaning supplies, but by the time we got to the food section I was completely overwhelmed. Who the heck needs 92 granola bars? If I bring 42 fruit roll ups into my house, doesn’t that mean my kids are going to eat 42 fruit roll ups? Why are the cereal boxes bigger than our backyard kiddie pool? Which king is eating a bag full of king-sized chocolate bars? I half-halfheartedly threw a couple of boxes of “stuff” into the cart and then ducked and ran. If there is a tutorial out there for Costco-goers, sign me up because I get heart palpitations thinking about going back (though why would I need to — I have 92 granola bars).
We are slowly making progress settling in to Cleveland. With Yael and Yoni off at Stone, I have become the parent that checks the website for their pictures hourly (not proud of it, just keeping it real). David took Eitan and Channan to sports night at their day camp last night. Eitan saw the fire alarm on the wall and read (correctly) “pull.” So he did. Nothing like waiting on a call from the fire commissioner. Dov has been spending his days running around with me and David. It turns out that boy may be ever more hilarious than we originally thought (our current potty-training technique offers Power Rangers for poop — sort of like cash for guns). Today Dov starts backyard camp so we can finally have a few hours of quiet.
Yesterday we took the boys for Slurpees at 7-Eleven. As Eitan sucked down his coke Slurpee, he magnanimously told me, “Maybe today isn’t the worst day ever.” Ah…
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