And then she was eight…

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Today, Big, my shana madelah (sweet little girl) turns eight. About ten minutes ago, she was born. I remember the night before when the Mrs. felt a little funny. I said there is no way I’m going to work tomorrow, and she laughed it off. After all, it was a full week early, and anyone who knows my Mrs. knows that she does early (honey I say this lovingly, mwah!), well, not so much.

We went to bed that night and were both restless. By 4 am, contractions were coming. By six am, we were on our way to the hospital. I notified the essential mishpocheh (family), and we were on our way. The city was tranquil. I tried my best to dodge every pothole to make the ride as painless as possible, no easy task in Philly in early March.

We checked in and the Mrs. was checked out. One cm. Hmmm. They called our midwife, who was in no rush to make it in. She had the chutzpah (nerve, more like gall) to think this would be normal, like other births. Feh! Our nurse came in and helped us through a major contraction. I held the hand of my love, and wished I could make her pain go away. My kishkas (intestines) were in knots. I could only imagine what she felt. The nurse and I watched what looked like a seismograph for earth quakes—we waited for the line to max out, and then come back down. When it didn’t, the nurse looked at me and mouthed, “WTF?” I mouthed, “WTF” right back, and said, “do something!” We were definitely not in birthing class anymore. This was definitely mishegas (craziness).

We both cried aloud for meds! Bring ‘em on. Epidural! Set me up too! Stat! The anesthesiologist arrived too late to begin. The Mrs. was in full on labor, and they raced us over to delivery. No meds for this ride. Oy vey. To make a long story short, Big came into this world like greased lightning. Less than 3 hours start to finish.

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They placed her little perfect body right on top of the Mrs., skin to skin. A more beautiful scene, I have never witnessed. She was wriggling, cooing, almost dancing. They were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life. I witnessed the miracle that is Big, and the Mrs.; she left me awestruck (as she often does).

And today, in just a few hours, she will wake up and be 8. Wow. I am still awestruck by them all, My Mrs., my Big, and my Little. Der kinder (the children). My family.

Big, she may just have the biggest heart on the planet. She is thoughtful, kind, compassionate, creative, sweet, loving, sensitive, smart, strong and beautiful, both inside and out. She is a gutte nushema, a mensch among mensches (a truly good and kind person). Like a little Mrs., she is.

Today, like a tree she is growing tall, her front tooth is all wiggly, and she dances and glides through the air as she walks.

Cheppy Boyzay (Happy Birthday) Big! Mommy loves you so, my shana madelah.

This Yiddisher Mama is so lucky. Tonight, bobka (cake) for everyone! I’m kvelling (gushing with pride and joy)!

 

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Rant, Shmant, as long as I can vent week 5

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Quiet please! Therapist is in session (with a loon!)

Privacy is driving me meshugener (crazy). Who has any? As a mom, or a parent/caregiver, when was the last time you went to the bathroom by yourself? Showered without interruption? Little and Big are always asserting and inserting their presence, no matter what seems to be happening. Last week, the Mrs. And I snuck away in the middle of the Parent Trap just to have a conversation. Nothing secret, sacred, or even sordid! We thought for sure that Lindsay Lohan as a kinder (child) would hold their stare. We were in the bathroom with the door shut, kibitzing (talking). Don’t you know, that not five minutes into our conversation, we hear a geshrei (scream) from Little, “WHERE ARE YOU?” Mittendrinnen (in the middle of) the scene where the parents see each other after all those years, they are banging on the door. Mind you, I’m still kvelling (overjoyed with pride) over how sweet they were, their genuine concern of the Mrs. and me, but c’mon!

After reading the news, I realize we have no privacy anywhere. There are cameras everywhere! One can receive a speeding ticket by mail with a picture of your offending car! There are satellite and surveillance cameras capturing our every move. Is my computer watching me type right now? Probably. What about the cloud? How many snoopers and cyber-yentas (gossips) are sifting through all of that stuff?

Do you read the terms and conditions every time you get a new app or open an online account? Not me! I read bubkas (nothing) and blindly click ‘accept!’ They are all in 8-point font and go on and on, using legalese, forever. They are designed to be unreadable. A shonda (shameful)!

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Somehow Facebook knows when I by something on Amazon. This changes my algorithms (is this what they meant in elementary school when they said we’ll use math our whole life?) that create my timeline feeds, and suddenly I see other things similar to or accessories for what I just bought. Is this kosher (legit)? Google knows more about me than my parents (well, that’s for another posting, I promise).

Which brings me to Tim Cook and the pressure cooker he seems to be schvitzing (sweating) in. Stand your ground Tim! Don’t give up the goods to the Bureau! You have gotta know that I’m all for stopping really bad, bad guys and terrorists. But this very big ask by the Elliot Ness’s of the world is one slippery slope for our freedom and liberty.

How many big corporations and retail locations have already been hacked? How can we feel safe knowing there can might be one piece of magical code out there in the ether that can unlock our iPhones and let everyone know how many friends we have to play Words with Friends with? This code can simply and easily undermine decades of security measures and advancements that have been taken by Apple and every tech company that we interact with, to keep out the uber-erudite hackers and cyber-gonifs (thieves).

Today, phones house everything that our desktops, laptops and tablets used to hold, or more. They are the gateway to our entire lives. I respect law enforcement and I cannot even begin to comprehend the kind of pressure they are under to keep us safe. But please, please, keep the back door locked Tim. This is one pandora of a box, kaynahorah (geeze-louise) we shouldn’t open! Be the alrightnik (successful) mensch (good person) that you are and continue to protect the world for my kids, and everyone else.

 

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Beauty and the Beast: the real deal

Beauty and the Beast
Beauty and the Beast

Growing up, my mother told us (Shvesters) we were gorgeous. It was disingenuous. Even back then, at a very young age, I knew her words were for her. She would often fish for compliments with total strangers, coyly at the grocery store baggers, at restaurants with wait staff. To her credit, she was, and still remains a very nice-looking person. She took great pains to stay attractive, now approaching eighty years of life. Motivation for her was to look good on the arm of my father. Not a whole lot more going on, unfortunately.

My sister—her beauty comes au natural and is throughout. She favors my mom and has maintained a statuesque 3+ inches over her since the early teen years. Both were, and still are, very attractive. My shvester, she is truly beautiful, inside and out.

As a kid, I looked, and still highly resemble my father, who looks like his father did. Funny, resemblance was never a thing I could see until I became a mom. Likeness via DNA is powerful. I can stand at the airport or a movie theatre, a bookstore, and spot the packs of gene-poolers as they pass by. (Let the record show, that as a mom, I can also now detect fever and/or illness with my bare hand, nose picking clear from another room, and I have become completely desensitized to vomit and other bodily secretions that spout from the kinder. Prior to the arrival of Little and Big, none of these things were possible. I thought motherhood would also empower me the knowledge of how to fold a fitted sheet, but epic momma-fail there.)

Back to the premise here: The Mrs., she is a pure beauty. She even looks good with a paper hat atop her head during holiday dinners (just ask her mom! It’s no joke–and sorry, she won’t let me post one for proof). The kinder, my shana madelahs—together, I have three stunners from their inside core to the outer shell that is our body.

Me? No eye candy here. No meeskait; no train wreck, mind you, just normal. Well, less than average height and weight; run-of-the-mill graying of hair. My face is ‘a bit too well lined with character’ for my baby boomer ‘end of an era’ birthday. And, I will not for one moment, lose sleep over any of this. Why? Because I know I am a good person with a good core. Not just the ‘six-pack’ kind.

I do not fuss with my hair or even use a comb or brush. I had a fleeting encounter with makeup in my sophomore year in college (Bernice, remember?). I saw cotton balls in my home for the first time when the Mrs. first moved (in 1998!). I still have no clue what their main purpose holds. I want to thank Nature’s Knowledge for letting me know I can add some apple cider vinegar to a cotton ball and use it as toner for my face. (I do this now!) My outfit of choice is jeans, Dansko’s and several layers of shirts, and a hoody to keep warm (Blizzard of 2016 Jonas or not). Yes, I’m happiest in a hoody and sneaks, just like big-Daddy Zuckerberg himself. I despise dressing up and find shopping to dress up even worse. I come to you purely, sans schmaltz. What you see is what you get, always. And when you know me, you can see me inside and out. That’s the emmes truth.

Little and Big
Little and Big

My kinder are the ‘girliest’ of girls. I have learned to spy, with my little eye, a dress that has good twirl (this matters)…shoes and leggings that will enhance with sparkle, dazzle and élan, and what will ultimately make my daughters smile like Cheshire Cats. The fashionista-gene has been passed, along with the wherewithal to shop. I have made the case for pink chucks to no avail. Recently, Big announced she wanted a pair of pants! To my ears, such music! Kvelling!

So, not too long ago, that nice chap with the white beard and jolly red suit, he brought us tickets to see Beauty and the Beast (Feb.)! After studying the picture Mr. Claus left with the tickets, Little said, “Ema is Beauty, and Mommy is the Beast!” Okay!

Not long after, I was told that the same kinder, spry little fox that she is, was discussing Harry Potter and said, “Mommy can be Dumbledore.”

Thankfully I have thick skin, a good sense of humor, and the joy in knowing that my kids find me worthy of a Disney extravaganza! How can that be bad? I remain unscathed and well hooded. I embrace my inner and or outer beast and welcome another delightful day in momma’s house. After all, how many kids think their momma is Broadway Bound? Out of the mouths of these babes, right? Nu? 

 

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Rant, shmant. As long as I can vent…

QUIET: Therapy In Session
QUIET: Therapy In Session

A new weekly feature for you (really, for me. Remember, you are my therapists).

Many months ago something happened that gives me such shpilkes, even today. The Mrs., she takes Big to the doctor for her yearly check in. Little tags along, as she usually does. This is usually not too traumatic of an event. We love our doc and the visit is always followed up with ice cream for all! What’s not to love?

First, let me tell you that Big, she is fine. Our regular pediatrician is out on some emergency, so they ask if it’s okay that Big sees a male doc for this visit. This I think is nice thing. We say of course, no problem. We have no issue here.

Mr. Doc comes in, seems pleasant, engaging—all is good. A little doctoring goes on, looking in the ears, listening to the heart, etc. then he says to Big, “Do all of your friends hate you?” Big, (all of seven years old) looks perplexed and worried. The Mrs., she is mortified.

Mr. Doc continues to spew, “Don’t they hate you because you are so beautiful? If they don’t now, they will soon.” This, he says to the most sensitive little madelah on the planet. On a regular day, she is like a sponge soaking in the pain of the world. Really? We needed this new burden added to this thoughtful kinder like we needed a loch in kop?

The Mrs., she speaks up. She says, NO! THAT IS NOT A PROBLEM HERE. WE DON’T WORRY ABOUT THIS! NO ONE TALKS ABOUT IT! With eyes bulging and body language that I’m certain, has this medical macher in need of new boxers.

The rest of the visit is uneventful, thankfully. The Mrs., she has to explain to Big and Little, that the doc, he made a bad mistake. No one will hate her for being beautiful. To be a truly beautiful person means you are filled with kindness, compassion and love for yourself and others. Beauty comes from the inside out.

We have heard about Big’s allure from many, but never put forth in a way so crass, so blissfully ignorant and hopelessly tactless. Of all places, we would have never expected something like this to occur at our children’s medical establishment.

So Mr. Doc and those that surround you and your small thinking, you need to know that both of my girls are gorgeous in my eyes. Both of my girls are so much more than a pretty face. Do not, dear Doctor, ever hold them to such low standing, that you expect them to ride free on their stunning aesthetic qualities. They both will carry with them an appeal that comes from who they are on this planet and how they relate to their fellow human beings. They will utilize their brains in virtuous ways because they are cultivating a love of learning. They will grow up to become whatever it is they want to become, because they will both work hard and know they can. They both will lead and dictate their paths.

Hate is a mighty strong word. Please watch where you use such a term in today’s society; it resonates so freely off the tongues of way too many. Where lives get cut short over senseless violence, racism and bigotry. There are probably countless despicable persons on the planet, yet few deserve such a term as ‘hated’ from another individual, as my Big.

Mr. Doc, you have ticked me off in ways that you will never know or comprehend. And I do not hate you. I do fear and worry that there are more out there that think like you—and, I am one pissed Jewish Mamma.

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Hello, It’s me…Lisa

Little and Big Xmas 2015

So you may wonder why I’m here blogging, sharing my spiel? Truth is, I started blogging because it’s a hell of a lot cheaper than therapy. And that makes you, dear readers, my therapists. By the powers vested in me, please follow, share and leave your comments, good and bad. Let’s kibitz?

I don’t want to kvetch (a lot), but dreck happens, often. And that’s okay. I am here on the planet to learn and grow daily. So what if we share a little growing pains?
Armed with my keypad, camera and some words, hopefully strung together fairly well, I can fill you in on what goes on, while also working on this ‘life in progress’ journey we all seem to be taking. Wouldn’t it be nice, if maybe we could all laugh, cry, see some commonalities, embrace some differences and inspire each other to keep going?
My muses? None other than my crazy, zany, beautiful (inside and out) and lovable family. That includes me, the Mrs.,Family 1-1-2016 BHI Little and Big. Yes, we are two mommas with two little girls. Trials, tribulations, parenting, working, aging and surviving, while food shopping, doing laundry, making meals, cleaning up and trying to save the planet.
Sometimes I’ll offer up little nuggets to nosh on, and sometimes a bit more of a tirade about whatever may have my kishkas in an uproar. I figure, this blog will see me, us, through the ups and downs of the hand(s) we’ve been dealt. Chronic pain, major life changes, moves, losses, gains, wins, ballet recitals, tooth fairies, friends, foes, fears, tsuris, yadda, yadda…
I blog because…
  • my girls may someday look back and want to see who ‘Mommy’ was as a person, through their adult eyes
  • I want to remember every (okay, most) beautiful moment of their childhood that is priceless and filled with such naches
  • every moment isn’t pretty–sometimes it’s messy and fehklempt, and I want those memories too
  • other parents out in the ether must know what to do when…? and share with me
  • for some crazy reason, I am channeling great Aunt Frieda with all of this Yiddish
  • I have funny thoughts, and I write them down, in the hopes that you (my therapists) may smile or chuckle over them tooblogger mommy
  • my family, my little mishpocheh and my extended and chosen peeps, need to know how very much I love them and feel loved by them
  • life with two kids, work, school and all the other mishegas, doesn’t always allow for adequate ‘tawk-time’ with the Mrs., or anyone else for that matter
  • ahhh, the Mrs., whenever I see her, my heart still skips a beat
  • every night, Little cries out during bedtime that she is hungry
  • Canada looks very good in the event of a Trump inauguration, and we will need to know where to send Little and Big to school
  • have I got stories to tell. Oy vey!

So, you’ll join me? What, you have something better to do? Nu?

BTW, I’m the one with the gray hair in the pic.

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Dear Society,

my 4

As you go about your business and relate with people, families, groups, please kindly think before you speak. Do I mean to say this so harshly? Maybe. It occurs to me, that as a culture, there has long been some traditional hardwiring when it comes to the rule of family. Husband, wife, and 2.3 kids have long been the accepted norm. Over time, many of you have even acknowledged the single mom who has one or more kids. Single Dad’s exist too, holding custody of children in a post-Kramer vs. Kramer world.

However my fellow creatures of the good ol’ U.S. of A., please be aware of the ‘rainbow-banner year’ 2015 has been for human rights. (Such naches this year has brought.) Yes, did you notice I didn’t say just LGBT rights? Small thinking must stop. The word ‘family’ is now fascinating and complex. Prejudice and discrimination must stop. It’s time to believe that all lives matter. #HumanityMatters.

You’ve recognized different religions marrying. You’ve accepted bi-racial couples. Let love win.

In June of 2015, Edie Windsor and Jim Obergefell braved SCOTUS and won, making same sex marriage a right nationwide, citing the 14th Amendment of the U.S. Constitution. Talk about a Mensch on a Bench! Our mass shpilkes had ended! In a momentous 5-4 ruling, 5 mensch’s struck down the U.S. ban, stating that this ‘liberty will no longer be denied.’ Surely it is a mitzvah for all humanity when love wins.

my 3

Marriage licenses were issued all over the country to same sex fagele’s. Registries and calls to the caterers rang throughout the land. In this same year, more than 450 elected officials served as openly fagele. The transgendered community became visible as Laverne Cox posed nude for photographer, Norman Jean Roy and Vanity Fair magazine led with “Call me Caitlyn.” Kneidlach or not, #HumanityMatters.

With all of this positive change, hear my spiel. Families in your line of vision may appear different from what you are used to — and this difference is good and beautiful and long overdue.

Two dads and their children may eat in a restaurant, shop in a store, walk in a park, play at the playground or catch the new Star Wars flick. Do not have the chutzpah to think (with your outside voice) that one of the adults is the dad and one is the brother, the uncle, the friend, or the grandfather. Don’t assume alte kocker when one parent looks older than the other.

Two moms and their children may eat in a restaurant, shop in a store, walk in a park, play at the playground or catch the new Star Wars flick. Do not have the chutzpah to think (with your outside voice) that one of the adults is the mom and one is the sister, the aunt, the friend or the grandmother. Don’t assume alte kocker when one parent looks older than the other. (Please read this: I am not the Bubbeh, I am Mommy.) Vai is mir.

my two

Because you know what happens when you assume

And guess what, our families are just like yours. Except maybe, sometimes, we work harder than most to birth our kinder.

So please, I beg of you, open your minds to new things, new ideas, and new families, even a bissel. It’s mashuggeh not to. If you can’t, you can kish’m tuchas. Poo. Poo. Poo.

If you can, l’Chaim.

And remember, #humanitymatters.

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It’s Bedtime, by Santa

bed 2

Dear Big, mostly Little

It’s Santa you see

To talk about something not so great

Can it be?

 

By day you are both so mighty, so strong

I was hoping this nightfall report was all wrong

By watching, I noticed the shtick and the struggles

For Ema and Mommy who only want snuggles

 

bed 1

Those 8 crazy nights flew by without a tussle

But Santa you know, has so much more muscle

My powers cover the actions of naughty and nice

You may just get gornisht; you’re rollin’ the dice

 

By mail I’ve read of the things on your lists

Your chutzpah dear kinder must cease and desist

Something must change when you climb into that bed

A time filled with shpilkes and unneeded dread

 

Please know shaineh maidels, that I’ve got your number

After brushing and flossing and primping for slumber

When the last pages of book is read and completed

Your Mommies, the neighbors, are all quite depleted

 

Kicking and screaming is never okay

It’s a shandeh especially at this time of the day

You must stop the geshrei-ing and crying you see

And drinking so much that you just have to pee

bed 3

I know you’re not hungry; your belly is fine

Your eyes do not hurt; oh jeez, stop that whine!

Even boogers need rest at the end of the day

So leave them alone in your nose, okay?

 

Life in the Manor was quiet, serene

Before you two pishers came on to the scene

From now on kinderlech, no more meshugener making

Or your tchatchkes and presents will be mine for the taking

 

Be little mensches, close your eyes and gey schluffen

Leave the rumpus behind and there’ll be no more noodgin’

Nod off, conk out, cop some z’s, that’s my wish

Bubelah’s please, tuches ahfen tish!

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