I see unattainable luxuries. My kids see a reflection of their lives

I

t’s almost bedtime, and I’m sprawled on the couch. My two youngest are squashed next to me; we’re about to begin our weekly magazine-reading ritual.

First, we flick through the Mishpacha Jr. All that really interests the little ones are the Dov and Dina stories and the photos people send in of their kids posing proudly next to a Lego or Magna-Tile project. Sometimes, we go on to copy the things the magazine-kids made, but this week, no one wants to.

“Now Mummy’s magazine,” two-year-old Avigail says.

We read this magazine for the ads. Ads I would usually flick past, glazed-eyed, take on their own dimensions when seen through a child’s eyes.

“But why is that boy sitting on the moon?” four-year-old Aharon asks, confused by a Bonei Olam ad. “We can’t sit on the moon!”

I’ve stopped trying to explain the concept of artistic license and Photoshop. I just say, in Israeli-toddler-speak, “It’s k’ilu.” It’s make-believe, pretend.

“Like I’m k’ilu going to be Aharon HaKohein for Purim.” Aharon nods, on board with the idea.

We come to a spread featuring a gleaming kitchen with accessories I’ve never come across in real life.

“That’s a kitchen.” I preempt the inevitable question and prepare to turn the page.