The kinderlech (children), they should play and be happy! Us too!
The kinderlech (children), they should play and be happy! Us too!
Very soon, it is Rosh Hashana, and Jews around the world will be celebrating the Jewish New Year. My very Kool friend at KoolKosherKitchen has an amazing blog filled with goodness, and this special favorite, the round challah. The twist here, this challah is gluten free. Azoi! So happy New Year all — it should only get better. L’Shona Tovah my friends, and M’wah!
We are getting ready for Rosh Hashana, the Jewish New Year, and we are baking traditional round challahs that symbolize the cyclical nature of life, the end which is also the beginning. There are two statements in this sentence that fall into the “everybody knows” category. However, as everybody knows, most of the things known to everybody are not exactly the way they seem. Let’s take them one by one.
Time flows. People impose their own markers on it arbitrarily, for their own convenience. In fact, there are four Jewish New Years prescribed by law (Mishnah Rosh Hashanah 1:1), and Rosh Hashana actually means “the Head of the Year” rather than New Year. In the Gemorrah (Rosh Hashana 8a) it is stated that Rosh Hashana is the anniversary of creation – Happy Birthday, Adam! It isn’t called New Year anywhere; it is called The Day of Remembrance…
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How on earth…
Six years ago tonight, our second, known to you as Little, sailed into this world, our world, like greased lightening. She was truly ‘herself’ from the moment she took a breath outside of the warm comforts of uterine living. When she ‘eye-spied with her little eye,’ Big, her shvester (sister) it was love at first sight. We were two proud mommas (I of course was much less sore, stricken only with awe and true love at the strength, power and beauty of my Mrs.). It’s one of the benefits listed on the gay agenda when a lesbian couple – sharing clothes, shoes and birthing.
My Little, what to say… She speaks her mind and she claims her space. Sure, she learns and emulates Big, but she is not at all afraid to look outside the box, color outside of the lines and speak her mind, all while singing a merry tune, real, or made up. This girl, she has pipes. She can croon with the best and if cultivated, may just be the next Adele. She will anthropomorphize any object in hand into a family and immediately play imaginary games.
Dogs – don’t even get me started. Oh how she tortured loved our two pugs, Atticus and Eli, as they watched our family add two-legged creatures begrudgingly. Enter a room and Atticus was dressed in pearls and a bike helmet while Eli sported an outfit from any of the American Girl dolls. Oy vey, they tolerated loved her well. And now Gatsby, poor Gatsby… let’s just leave it at that.
My Little has style and flamboyance that is all her own. She embraces her spirit and wears it well and out loud (apologies to neighbors on all sides, up and down). She is a boisterous life force that can fill a space with her oomph and enthusiasm. She fills my heart!
Today, my Little bubelah (darling), she is grappling with getting bigger, older (like I don’t know from this). She has said several times this past week, “I’m gonna turn six, but after that I’m not doing it anymore. I don’t want to go to college. I just want to stay with my mamas.”
Join me today in this simcha (joyous occasion) as we celebrate my Little! L’Chaim! (To Life!)
It’s September again; the stores, they started it first
Christmas, its here and now it’s time to rehearse
Find the nice tights, leotards; put buns in their hair
It’s Nutcracker tryouts — hurry, hurry, let’s prepare
Every Sunday from now, right up to those two special days
They’ll practice away in their sugarplum haze
We’ll leave other events early with a sigh or a pout
And arrive at the studio to grand jeté about
As the music is cranked our smiles quickly return
It’s Tchaikovsky we hear, so many new parts to be learned
The Littles and Bigs, they will dance with the Donetsk ballet
As they show the story of a girl, her gift and her dream in a magical way
My sweet little maidelahs making Yuletide traditions
Sharing steps with Ukrainian mavens, in Balanchine’s celebrated positions
A mouse and a cook for my Big this holiday season, My Little a polichinelle and a small doll
Two roles, two acts, and two costumes for each, making memories, having fun, above all
In theatre with stage sets that ‘wows’ every viewer, this Yiddisher momma, oy how I’ll kvell
Come one, come all, grab a seat and enjoy, such nachas can only make you feel well
The Holiday season is right smack dab on us; the emmes truth, we couldn’t be cheerier
Vas, like you have something better to do? Not when the Wissahicken Dance Academy is so superior!
A bei gezunt to all (You should all be healthy)!
This vision of real life is brought to you by Big. No spinach was injured (or eaten) during this display. Big, oh how I love you my bubbelah (sweet girl)!
*Es nisht di khale far a moitse. Don’t eat the challah before you’ve made the blessing. (*McKay and Gabe, this is for you!)
It’s been a fucking lifetime few weeks now of life as a salmon, swimming against the tide of bureaucratic bullshit on numerous life levels. Paperwork perdition. Righting wrongs, with only a small success to keep my spirit motivated. I fear losing some of my much called upon ‘glass half-full’ skills. I’ve been a salmon so long now, I cannot even appreciate a nice nosh (snack) of lox and bagels with a shmear…Oy vey iz mir.
My heart pounded, “What, someone stole my identity and has my return?” “No, it was just a random pull”, he replied. “Let me see what I can do to get this processed for you”. I took his name and badge number and felt we were on our way. He said, “Call, and just ask for me by my badge number.”
That was March. Now, I dial the many IRS numbers I have amassed, and get 85+ different prompts, all of which I have tried, and none of which lead me to an actual live person. I fear for my badge-numbered friend. I go through the ‘find the status of my refund’ prompt, and nu, I get: Your tax return has not yet been processed. I called the phone number of the local IRS department, and I got a recording saying, ‘This phone number does not offer phone support.’ What the fuck! I even tried the phone number for the hearing impaired. After all, even the IRS would be nice to the hearing impaired, right? Not so much. When the machine picked up, it let out a blaring sound, like a ship at sea (warning poor schlemeils (fools) like me, mere salmon still going upstream) to move aside. My right ear, it still rings. And yes, dejectedly, I am still swimming.
There’s more, but this seems like just enough. End on a good note.
Tsum shtain zol men klogen nor nit bei zikh zol men trogen. Better pour out your troubles to a stone, but don’t carry them within yourself. So, I’m pouring. Thanks for reading!
Wishing you all a tsuris (trouble) free time. A bei gezunt (Be in good health).