I’m old.   Ancient actually. Could be compared to one of those extinct dinosaurs. Thing is, I’m not actually old per se, it’s more of a relative term for where I live and the company I keep.  You see, being a 42-and-three-quarter-year-old mother of two little boys living in Efrat, is pretty much what’s done it.  Hence here, I sometimes see myself as a Maiassaura – a good mother but simultaneously, a dinosaur mother.

Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against the city a mere 12 minutes north of Jerusalem.  Or south.  Or somewhere up the hill in the car.  I actually love it.  Seven years ago my husband and I had the good sense (well, his good sense coupled with my subdued neurosis) to purchase a relatively new house in the half-empty street of Zayit’s “benei beitcha” (literally, build a house – although we actually paid someone to do that for us).  It’s great.  And boy-oh-boy was it good he convinced me to (what felt like at the time) sign my life away with the 30 year mortgage.  Although having said that, sometimes when I’m at Rami Levi paying for my courgettes (yes I’m originally from the UK) and wacky mac I feel like I’m signing as many papers as I did back then. But I digress.  We bought this house (that the bank is the proud owner of today) when we were newly-married… but not young.  We skipped the whole “young newly wed” bit.

I have to say, it was a bit of a risk.  To join a community busting with kids and strollers and ganim and strollers and babies and strollers and…yes.  We actually never knew if we’d have kids.  But we had a dog so I held my breath, bit the bullet and hoped for the best.

Anyway I still of course have this passionate love affair with Jerusalem – the city I spent 11 years trying to “Katch-a-man” in.  But it just wasn’t practical.  And now that we do have our 2.4 kids (the .4 being the dog and the tortoises), I see what a great place it is to live.  And Jerusalem is just that somewhat forgotten distant memory.  Which is okay.  It’s how it should be.  And I feel blessed. Because I am.  Although the dinosaur feeling just keeps hovering.

Sometimes I just can’t help wonder what it is exactly I am doing living on this street.  Most of our little group of friends have parents who are closer in age to us.  And the ones who we are friendly with who have older kids, are at the grandparents stage. Which sometimes – as my husband so delicately points out – I seem to aspire to as well.

Don’t get me wrong.  Getting married later and having kids as a dinosaur mum has its advantages.  I’m extremely happy thank the good L-rd. But it’s challenging.  My own mother was a grandmother at my age+5.  And mature as my gorgeous 6-year old is, I don’t think he’s going to be producing grandchildren in 5 years.  At least, I hope not.  Because other than providing great material for blogging, that would send this dinosaur into premature aging…if I’m not there already.