Today I am dragging, seriously dragging. The first rocket alert was around 6:30am. I couldn’t move, but the rest of the family ran for the centre of the house. I am praying that 1) I survive this round of hostilities and 2) they finally get us a mamad built, because – when/if we do have a mamad (acronym in Hebrew for a safe room) it will be my bedroom, and when I can’t move I can still be protected.
The second alert, also very early in the morning, I managed to turn over a bit, but it hurt and the legs still weren’t working, so I waited that one out in bed, too. Mornings are not good for me. I can always get up for an alert after I’ve been up for a while.
It occurred to me that I want to take photos of us in our ‘safe’ place, the hall in the centre of the house. It’s a small area, and we are all crowded in there pretty tightly, but I can get the photos in two parts I assume. I’ve seen plenty of pictures of people in bomb shelters in this country, and on stairwells. Our place is pretty darn small comparatively, and if we have company there isn’t room to sit down.
One of the first things affected by the bombings is sleep. We stop sleeping well or getting enough sleep. At first it doesn’t really make a difference, we go through our lives a little tired, but that’s all. After a while – it’s been two or three weeks for us with the bombings now – it starts to take a bigger toll. We are all snappish. None of us wants to start a big project or plan anything for the future. We do our household chores (taking the donkeys to pasture, feeding the cats, washing the dishes, laundry, &tc.) with a great deal of grumbling and sometimes ill-feeling.
Of course it is summer and the heat doesn’t help. Leaving my room with a mazgan (air conditioner & heater) I walk into stifling, humid, nasty smelling, thick air that is hard to breathe. Add that to the sleep-deprivation and none of us is functioning so very well.
Somehow The Husband manages to keep going through all of it. Sometimes I marvel at his strength, his good health, his stamina. Sometimes I get mad about it. My oldest son is less affected as well, but he is definitely grumpier than usual. Youngest son does his chores, eats and reads books. I suppose if we weren’t getting bombed he would be doing about the same amount, really. He is a teenager. *wry grin*
So now it is 12:30pm, and I am finally awake and functional – a bit. I’ve had to shoo people and critters out of my room in order to be able to type anything. Kitten, my cat, had to be ejected multiple times for sitting on the keyboard.
The Husband is on his way back from Sderot with our daughter. I don’t know how long she will be visiting, just a few hours or over shabbot. She is much safer in her own apartment, which, even though it doesn’t have a mamad, is under a house. She is effectively protected by the people living above her. She’s used to it, and doesn’t, I think, weigh the differences, as I do. As I worry about the safety of every member of my family living at home or on their own.
In the Harry Potter books, the character Mrs. Weasley has a clock on the wall that tells where everyone is and their status. I desperately need that clock in times like this. I need to know when one of my kids is in transit between work and home, and that they are okay.
My middle daughter is here now, outside my door being greeted by the dogs, who love her. Whenever she comes home they are ecstatic to see her. The dogs are also effected by the booming, being more stressed, more protective, more worried. Still, they trust us implicitly (talk about misplaced trust), that wherever we are, everything will be okay. Well, so far it’s been all right.
I’d best finish this up and greet my daughter. Sometimes life during wartime is just like everyday life, just a little more anxious, and a lot more tired.