While I don’t think I’ll be shouting ‘hallelujah’ anytime soon, it’s time. I need to stop brooding over the literal dreadful future state of the union and turn my frown upside down. After all, I’m a kveller (one who bursts with pride and positivity) not a kvetch (complainer). Remember my glass half full look at life? Well, I’m trying hard to conjure that back up since the events of November 8. So here goes… My top five, Nu? I’m lucky to find three things to get my ‘happy’ on, ASAP:
Smile. It’s contagious. Smile at a stranger, a coworker, a spouse, a kid, and mostly, they will smile back at you. It’s like a yawn, without the tired, hazy, breathy feeling. It’s a necessary contagion to release into our world right about now. For those who don’t smile back, well, they must be having a really bad time. Perhaps they are constipated (okay, we are adults here you know – constipation can be quite unsettling and cause severe cantankerousness). A smile may help the stuffed-stranger release endorphins to help them, well, ‘go,’ if you know what I mean. At the very least, we will have one smiling person, and one on the run… Before you know it, prior puffy person will be a bit lighter on their feet, grimace-be-gone, and they can head into the world spreading more smiles. See how this theory works? Smile begets smile. It’s quite lovely and much more sustainable than tsuris (troubles).
Tsuris tsezegen di harts. Trouble cuts up the heart. Dem bitersten mazel ken men farshtellen mil a shmaichel. The bitterest misfortune can be covered up with a smile.
Enjoy the moment. I don’t know about you, but I need more bad news like I need a luch in kop (hole in the head). Perhaps I need to turn off those CNN alerts on my phone and stop worrying about every scenario from this meshuggeneh(crazed) new administration. Relish my time with the Mrs., my Little and Big. With Gatsby, the most present of us all! At work. At play. With friends. Worry eats the present, delays the future and causes some scowl on my punim (face). Nothing says you are an adult more than a scowling punim! And, to extrapolate further, a scowling punim makes those horrid lines appear around my mouth and in between my eyebrows. I need to look more like an alta kocker (for real, this means an ‘old shit’) and get more gray hairs over this? Fuck that! I think not.
Zok nit kin vey. Don’t worry about it. Mit mazel ken men alles. With goodness, everything is possible.
Laugh more. Open your eyes and find the funny. I know, these times, they are not the best. But they are the times we now mustknow. And somehow, I hope we can realize and learn how similar we all really are. Let laughter be our joiner. The thing that unites us. That allows us to coexist, and then grow. Nothing sounds better to me then my kinder (kids) chock-full of chuckles and merriment. My weekly coffee klatsch (you know who you are) having a knee-slapping good time. My shvester (sister) and I chortling so hard, yes, we may pee a little! The sweet sound of the Mrs. in a hearty guffaw… (Maybe, that last one is just for me). But you get my drift. Euphoria is there. Make people laugh, laugh more with people. It may not change the world, but it sure will make this world more enjoyable.
A gelechter hert men veiter vi a gevain. Laughter is heard further than weeping. L’Chaim! To life!
I share the sentiment of the quote above, by President Barack Hussein Obama. I can only hope that everyone of voting age here in the US, living abroad, or via absentee ballot, exercises their civic duty and votes on Tuesday, November 8th, if not before. We have a democracy, so dammit, go out and vote!
There are many more of you than I’d like to admit, that I staunchly disagree with in your choice of nominees. That gives me great shpilkis (stomach upset, jittery) as we approach the first Tuesday after the first Monday in November, election day.
What I do know is that I am sick and tired of hearing about the lies of crooked Hillary. I am sick of the Donald getting a free ride in the media, even after the famed, “I grab them by the pussy” tapes and the uprising of victims saying, “uh, Yeah! He does!”
I am so exhausted by the Wikileaks emails from famed ‘nasty woman’ Hillary? Have you read any of them? I hope you are sitting down, because this stuff is hard to take in:
She was eager desperate to help a 10-year old girl from Yemen who managed to get a divorce (she was fucking 10 years old) have a better life, get to the US, attend school and seek counseling
She was finding ways to help dying patients get faster medical care, food and water in Haiti after the terrible earthquakes
She wanted to put a stop to child trafficking in Haiti
She worried about the closing of a home for abused boys in Illinois
She planned her daughter’s wedding
She was checked, examined, poked, prodded and cleared — unable to indict of any wrong doing. FBI case closed.
Now because of yet another misogynistic texting perv, Anthony Weiner (duly named), she comes under fire and examination yet again, causing a spiraling fall in the polls. The emails in question belong to close Clinton staffer of decades, Huma Abedin, and her estranged, very strange hubby. Emails were found on the laptop and iPad of Weiner. I sure hope they washed their hands after picking up those bits of technology! This new FBI action comes with no evidence of any wrongdoing by Hillary, or even a single connection. Comey, the FBI double-naught spy in question said, “They appear to be pertinent.” He said this without ANY examination at all of said emails. With four days until the election, it still remains unclear if these alleged emails found have anything to do with Hillary and if there is enough antibacterial soap to help those who handled them.
Yesterday, Melania Trump stumped in mainline Berwyn, PA. Wearing a very tight, pink blouse, she spoke eloquently to a room filled with Trump supporters, mostly men clad in red Trump hats. She spoke out against bullying. For real! She did. Bullying. Alanis, please add this to your song about irony. This epitomizes irony! Her hubby, the Donald, is the most infamous bully of our time.
Perhaps Melania doesn’t know her hubby very well. Perhaps he has moved on to a younger, more cleavaged immigrant and this has caused her to forget his xenophobic, misogynistic, racist, anti-disabled, anti-LGBT, anti-Muslim, anti-Black, anti-Latino, anti-Mexican, pro-violence, and lying, cheating flip-flopping ways.
And while the world is immersed in the email scandals, lest we forget Trump’s:
Fraud scandal at Trump University
Declaration of bankruptcy 6 times
Rape case of a minor pending in federal court
75 open pending lawsuits against him and his businesses
Trump Foundation activity
Inability to show us his tax returns
Ties to the Kremlin
Those of you dumb enough wasting your vote on the Green Party, did you know they just endorsed Trump? So even before, when we told you a vote for Green was a vote for Trump, now there is direct proof.
Which brings us to Tuesday, one of the single most volatile days for our country. A day that will truly go down in infamy. A day I fear. If you care about women, equal rights, healthcare, marriage equality, global warming, black lives matter, religious freedoms, the Supreme Court, any of the freedoms we have won over the last 8 years, and the generations to follow in our footsteps, please choose Hillary. Even if you don’t like her.
Please don’t fall for that reality show dolt who basically, day in and day out: Du kanst nicht oif meinem fus pishen und mir sagen klass es regen ist. He pees on your foot and tells you it’s raining.
What’s worse? Too many of you believe him.
And my last plea before I enter the polls on Tuesday is this: If you care about my family, The Mrs., me, Little and Big, please vote for Hillary. I am one proud, nasty woman who applauds the pant suit crowd and will happily pull the lever for our first ever, incredibly qualified, woman president.
Anyone who knows me knows that I despise guns. I believe the right to bare arms has been totally misconstrued from a constitutional amendment that stands for a well-armed militia, hundreds of years ago, vs. ‘I’m scared of you and your pack of skittles,’ or, ‘your tail light is out; get me your license and registration.’ ‘Nuf said. You can read many of my other posts pontificating on the excessive violence, racism and hate in our world.
I feel quite the hypocrite. I have a puppy. His name is Gatsby. Yes, after the Great Gatsby. He is the first real dog we have had. He chews on the wood trim and doors. He buries and hides his bones throughout the apartment. He digs holes outside in the common areas. He climbs the sofa and leaps to the kitchen counter (really) to eat the scraps of a peanut butter sandwiches left over from Big. He puppy-nips at Little for, well, being Little. He scavenges for food as we walk around the neighborhood.
Enter this pistol packing, gun-toting, and charlatan of a Yiddisher Momma. To clarify, the arms I carry is a water pistol / squirt gun. It is used purely for correctional puppy purposes. It shoots sprays a stream of water from afar, alerting my dear, loveable mutt that he is acting less than the stellar boychik (little boy) we need him to become.
A happy puppy is a well-exercised puppy. This also fits in with the lifestyle of this Yiddisher Momma. As we gad about the ‘hood, Gatsby is an incessant barker when he spies another pup. He is fantastically friendly, yet simply desperate to meet a new buddy. The yapping, more like a geshrei (quite loud and piercing), ceases the moment he is nose to nose with a new canine comrade. Where their noses go after, they should live and be well. But until that point, vey iz mer (OMG!)…
I hadn’t yet mentioned that he is a rescue. Here, the term is dual in nature. We rescued him because he was in need of a loving family and a home, and he rescued us, as our family was in dire need of an affectionate and playful pooch. We all make a nice family.
As a rescue, he rummages for food, no matter how many times we fill his bowl with healthy, raw, canine cuisine. If left to his own devices, he will eat pure dreck (trash, poo, bugs, vomit, grass, and dead things), along with anything else in reach. Just last week, I pulled from his mouth, a small dead bird, 4 chicken (oh my, I hope so at least) bones, many wood chips, and did I mention the deceased fowl?
After much reading, and searching our memories of pugs past (Atticus and Elijah), we remembered the squirt tactic. I searched high and low for an affordable ‘squirter’ that did not resemble a G-U-N. Fifteen years ago we had an alligator and a snail, or a flower… that delivered the same watery lesson. But the lifeless, leathery bird was too much mishegas (craziness) for me to bear. This frugalista had to do something fast and furious. I entered the Family Dollar, and found 3 shiny, colorful water guns: red, green and yellow. They were small enough to carry, big enough to do the job. All for one dollar.
We can now walk for an hour or more, and have maybe, 2 squirts, mostly related to over-barking. We can walk right past that mummified mouse, covered in ants. Newfound wisdom allows him to dodge the remains from the Colonel’s chicken bucket. It’s a remarkable transformation for which we are all kvelling (bursting with joy)!
But I am still packing. So if any of you are aware of some affordable arms that hold no resemblance to those ghastly items I loathe, do tell! Gatsby and me, we are a work in progress.
Help me; I feel a bit discouraged today. I’m not my usual sunny self.
My kinder, Little and Big, are growing up in a culture that is so riddled in hate. And it is growing overwhelmingly, and at warp speeds.
Me, I’m out looking for the fairies tossing pixie dust, playing harps (really cool ones), planting trees and lighting the path to eternal sunshine, love, peace and happiness? Others, they put on vests voluntarily and enter crowded airports and tourist hot spots, or purchase firearms and forever change what safety means.
Such brokkh (disaster and misfortune) I refuse to get used to!
Hate, the worst of the four letter words, is learned and it spreads like a contagion.
I have a friend whose family came here to visit, leaving from the very same Turkish Airport that the terrorists blew up, less than 24 hours later. Someone was shot in our parking lot just a few weeks back, and just minutes before, he killed another human being.
I’m sorry, but moments of silence and prayer are bullshit not cutting it for me. I do not mean to offend those who believe, but there cannot be a God whose plan is that we strategically pick each other off the planet to see who wins; most often, one by one — and too often, en masse. Poo, poo, may they all rest in peace…
Why the hell can’t we find a way to all live in peace? Is that so farshlugineh (crazy, irrational, mixed up)?
Did we just throw away our moral compass?
How did the bar get so low?
This post is filled with questions that I do not have the answers to. What I do know is that:
I’m all for gun control, background checks and mental health checks
I don’t think my neighbor, or yours for that matter, should have the right to bear arms. I have shpilkes (panic) when I consider that he or she may – what if my shana madelahs (sweet little darling girls) are there for a play date?
Color me crazy, but mental health is and should be valued as highly as physical health, whether you want a gun or not
I think we all should feel safe going to school, the movies, a dance club, the airport, at work and anywhere else the fuck we want to go
I think everyone should be able to pee without showing a birth certificate
I want to love out loud, fearlessly
Do we have the chutzpah (balls, yes balls) to make change out of this unconscionable tsuris (troubled, mayhem) of a world?
Won’t you help me? Please? My kishkas (intestines) are in knots at the thought of us not joining together with empathy in our hearts. Don’t we all deserve so much better than this? For the kinder (children), we make it better?
Alevai (It should only happen)!
Das hartz hat mir gezoght (My heart told me) it would.
Good News: My effervescent (not in a gassy way), cheerful, and sunny disposition has been fully restored to my punim (face) as I recently regained the use of my right trigeminal nerve. Yes, I’m a regular Mary Poppins-berg! In short, I’m able to smile, beam, and grin again like the Cheshire cat.
Bad News: Since March, my punim (face) has been fahrkrimpteh (twisted, scowling). My ability to fully smile, while usually a wonderful and somewhat contagious activity, means that the Botox treatment used to treat the nerve pain I experience from occipital neuralgia and cervical dystonia has completely worn off, shy of the 90 day term. Stop what you’re thinking. It’s not ‘that kind of Botox treatment.’ While I have the shoulders, back of my neck and scalp of a 21-year-old female, this punim (face) wears the aged mask of an alta kocker (old fart) from years of living in chronic pain.
The Ugly Truth: Chronic, persistent, prolonged pain sucks ducks. The walking wounded, we amble among you. We are everywhere. We may look just fine, and we are faking feeling great. Botox, actual botulism in a bottle, when administered by the proper neurologist, beautifully battles the suffering. When combined with bionics and meds, I’m the closest to normal I’ve been in decades. A bei gezunt (We should all live and be well)!
Good News: I am 13 12 days until my next treatment. That’s nothing! My cranium will regain its youthful glow as the surrounding nerves freeze and ease, like Elsa in Arendelle. I don’t mind needles or shots. I’m gonna “Let it go.”
Bad News: I am 13 12 days until my next treatment. Depending on how things go with the turbulent barometric pressure, stress, physical activity, posture, and luck of the draw, we’ll see how I feel day to day. How much can I fake it, and how I can avoid impending flares?
The Ugly Truth: This last round was wonderful! I had one or two days at a time when I totally turned off the bionics (occipital stimulator). On the classic pain scale where I (new-normally) live a persistent 6-7, I saw days in this past couple of months where I was a 2. Nu?Me and the Mrs., we were afraid to talk about it…I am amazed that some gantseh macher (big shot, genius) had the gumption to inject this enchanted neurotoxin to freeze nerve endings and reduce wrinkles. Who am I to judge that this mastermind’s first intention was to use his goldeneh hendts (golden hands) to fulfill the vanity needs of aging starlets? En route, there was a common oddity found among those firmer in the face. These maturing movie stars also saw benefits of less head and neck pain? Ah-hah moment!
Good News: Armed with the trifecta of Botox, meds and my stim, I get more days on my calendar than, well ever before. I have more time with the Mrs., Little and Big, more days for work, more days for play. Priceless.
Bad News: In terms of costs, Priceless, not so much. In fact, “OUCH!” This family will feel the pain in an already vulnerable wallet. There is no frugality in Pharma. They expect a lot of gelt (money). What price pain? This round, we will see how my new friends at Allergan pitch in to help.
The Ugly Truth: Soon, when I lose my smile, know how happy I really am. Pain, gay avek (go away) Neuro-paralysis, here I come.
Okay, it has to be done. I’ve seen too much collateral damage, both on the side of the road in a puddle of blood, and on the sofa cushions, in a puddle of tears. Texting is not a form of good communication. I’m as techy as the next mom, maybe more so. But, hear me loud and clear. We are allowing our superior opposable thumbs to:
Slowly and surely slash social human interaction
Cause senseless arguments and misinterpretations
Choke our savings in data plans that feel like extortion
Why you ask? Nuance. In a text you cannot look the person in the eyes, hear the tone of their voice, respond to their body language or sense their emotional state. Emoji’s, while cute, cannot replace the shades and degrees that make up real conversations.
PLEASE PICK UP THE PHONE IF:
Your text is more than 2 short sentences, such as, “Running late. Be home soon.” If the reader has to scroll endlessly to read your message, and then respond with texting that is twice as long, this is mishegas (crazy making).
You need to convey something shocking or impolite, “I’m divorcing you and I’m keeping the house. How was your day?” C’mon. Unless you are really a draycup (one with your head not on straight), think this through.
You have emotional news to share, like, “Your father, he’s just fine. He only tried to kill himself.” This Yiddisher momma loves sarcasm as much as you, but nice, not so much. This kind of text can trigger a battle of the thumbs that will rival the Dueling Banjos from Deliverance. And Carpal-Thumbal is soon to be the next medical malady.
You may come off a bissel (a tad bit) begrudging, “You did what? And that birthday Rolex will feed your kids how?” You may be thinking, wow, I was damned clever there…but at what price?
You may create a monster of a misunderstanding; “You haven’t spoken to me in three years and you want I should drop everythingnow and take you to the airport!” Don’t text today like nothing was wrong yesterday. Or more profoundly put, “Don’t pee on my foot and tell me it’s raining.”
DRIVING WHILE IN-TEXT-ICATED:
Every day, we mitigate hundreds of risks with the decisions and choices we make throughout the course of our days. And still, we magically (or luckily) make it home for dinner. Kaynehorrah (said to ward off the evil eye)! 1.6 million-car accidents occur each year due to the dilemma that is texting and driving. This number, it is growing. And it is taking our kinder (children) with it. Teens are the biggest culprits. And whom did they learn this behavior from? I’m just saying. Put the phone down. Be a role model. Listen to NPR or Spotify. Be present.
Distracted walking is now even cause for concern. People are texting while walking and getting hit by cars, run over by trains, and are generally more in danger than those of us present. Who is such a macher (big cheese, boss) they cannot walk without the thumbs poised to shoot?
Me, I have a strict rule in the car. I will not text and drive for three major reasons: The Mrs., Big, and Little.
And because I’m curious, when I do hear that electronic fart telling me I have a text waiting, don’t you know I hit every green light until I reach my final destination. No joke! Keep ‘em coming. I’ll be punctual and arrive alive.
A Fellow blogger, BumbisMom, who I so admire, has nominated me for the Bloggers Recognition award! Such nachas (pride that is oozing from my pores) I’m feeling! I mean, BumbisMom! Not only is her blog always awesome, her daughter is amazing and I wish they were my neighbors so that my Little and Big could play with her Bumbi.
Now, indulge me please, as I play by the rigorous rules of the blogosphere.
Thank the person, BumbisMom, in my case, who nominated you and give a link to their blog (DONE!) And, Mwah! and a for you and Bumbi!
Display the award in a post and kvell (write about it, boast) to your heart’s content
Share your spiel (story) and why you blog
Offer some keen wisdom or nugget of knowledge to up and coming bloggers
Nominate the bloggers you look to, admire, read, and are inspired by
How it all started:
I gotta tell ya, these last couple of years have handed us some Tsuris (grief and heartache) with a capital ‘T‘ that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. (Don’t you worry, my glass stays almost always half full.) To deal with these tumultuous times, I have sought out the only affordable therapy I can muster, and that is with you, via my blog. YOU my readers, have been granted a full degree in shrinkology to help me through, as I type about my life, my tirades, my joys, my pains, and my funny ideas. You are really very good at this! It will help you tremendously if you read everything I type with a bit of an ‘old Jewish, Bernie Sanders’ kind of tone. I have somehow channeled my great Aunt Frieda ( a nice pistachio cake she made!) and have become well versed in all the Yiddish I over heard as a child. Yiddish helps me share my ‘slice of the pie‘ in a more robust way, cause after all, if a Yiddisheh momma knows something is wrong, you need to eat bubbelah (an affectionate way to refer to someone)! Have some pie. You must be starving…
Interact with other bloggers – read, respond, ask questions – bloggers are good people
Be authentic and write from your heart
The Envelopes Please:
There are so many bloggers I thoroughly enjoy, learn, cry and laugh with every day. Thank you all for that! If you want to play along with the recognition love, please do when time permits. If you don’t, a bei gesunt (at least you should be healthy). I pass along the torch of the Bloggers Recognition award to:
Yes, I’m ranting. Why have we lowered the bar on civility?
Does it really matter where one pees? This Yiddisher momma will tell you that in the many times nature has called when I have been out and about, and the line at W went around the corner, I walked into the empty M without causing an international threat to gender. And haven’t all Euro-pee-ans been sharing a WC without worry for, well, ever?
And should whether one pees standing up or sitting down really dictate the gender pay gap?
If November 8th declares a victory for Hillary, will she only receive $316,000 per year / $0.79 per dollar of all her male predecessors?
Why do so many people care only for the unborn child while in utero, and not give a flying fu, well hoot, once the kid has left its amniotic apartment?
Why so much racism, hate, injustice and senseless violence?
How is Monsanto allowed to devastate our food system and spoon feed us garbage and chemicals? Don’t they deserve a squirt or two of RoundUp?
Fracking is the new F-word in the world of fossil fuels, foreign oil, future and further damage to water, health, our environment, and the planet. Pope, can you pipe in here please?
Climate change is real. Even the Pope, head macher (big deal, boss man) of the Catholic Church, says human beings are the cause of this major catastrophe. Why can’t the ‘collective we,’ countries and corporations, that share this planet all own that progress and evolution does not always make for a revolution.
With the bar so low, can we ever raise it again? How long will it take? I worry about all of our kinder (children) growing up in a world so careless, unkind, racist, bigoted and focused on the wrong green.
Oy vey doesn’t even begin to cover this shpilkas (intestinal terror!) folks.
Please, I am open to suggestions. Wallet activism and voting alone won’t change where we are headed.
We need a mindset shift, Yes? Any ideas? I’m askin’ from my heart.
One of the posts I have been avoiding writing is the one called ‘We want a dog, dammit!’ The Mrs. and I, along with the kinder (kids), have been trapped in a long stage of grief. I refer to 2014-15 as our Titanic years. Such tsuris, you should never know from (so many bad things happened). And the worst of them all, were the loss of our two boychik (little boy) pugs, Atticus (from To Kill a Mocking Bird) and Elijah (because we were waiting for him).
If you are not dog people, or animal lovers, you may not understand such heartbreak. You may think these feeling absurd. My wish for you is that someday, you experience such great emotion that comes with the unconditional love of a dog. For us humans, who stand erect and have opposable thumbs, we come with countless conditions and circumstances.
Little and Big would talk about the boys, their brothers, constantly. They knew, when Mommy’s heart was better, we would get another dog. They watched as the Mrs. and me shed pools full of tears. They hugged us tightly and said it would get better. In every rainbow, we saw our boys (and I gotta say, we’ve never seen so many rainbows!). And remember, this Yiddisher momma just speaks a lot of this fun, robust language and soaks in the culture – beliefs, that’s another story. Not so much.
They say, di tsayt iz der bester dokter (time is the best doctor). Maybe. Sometimes when you go slowly, you get there faster.
This past Sunday, we rescued this little guy. His dog-mom was a Pekinese-Pug mix, and his dog-dad a miniature Dachshund. I guess that makes him a mutt with some pugger in him. We named him Gatsby (as in the Great Gatsby). He is sweet and handsome and every bit a dawg! Now our family has grown, and this boychik (little boy) has two shvesters (sisters) and two moms. Lucky dog! Lucky us.
On Sunday night, when we got home from our long drive, puppy in tow, Big walked over to me and whispered in my ear, “Mommy, is your heart feeling better?” Such wisdom! Priceless.
Now, our family has such naches (joy, pride and gratitude) from Gatsby. For me, I know my heart has two holes that won’t mend, but it also just grew a few sizes bigger.
Shhhhh. feeling extremely out of control… Vampires bites! Week 14
Is it just me? Or are you worried about the Zika virus? Forget the election and the fate of our country. This little bugger might just trump Trump, in the world of threats? According to health officials at the CDC, these newly armed and mighty mosquitos are like teeny, tiny-terrorists, swarming our way, and outfitted in the latest ISIS style death-vests, ready to attack with a bite, leaving behind a trail of neurologic cooties. Can’t go outside because they can form and reproduce in a drop of water. Can’t stay inside, because unlike other mosquito members, they like it indoors.
At first, level red alerts were only for those with child and trying for ‘with child’ status, due to the link to abysmal birth defects. As if that wasn’t bad enough! Now, ‘they’ say, all of us are in danger. Fevers, rashes, joint pain, fatigue and um, some rare autoimmune and neurological disorders that could attack our brains and spinal chords.
And, as warmer weather is on the way, vacations begin and people from Zika prone countries will cross-pollinate. We now know, the vampire bite is no longer the only way to spread said sickness. Actually shtupping (having sex with an infected male) can do it too. Lucky for this two-momma household, we at least have lesbianism going for us. Oy vey!
So, I headed over to the CDC web site and take a look-see under PREVENTION. Mark my words, this is what it said: No vaccine exists. Prevent Zika by avoiding mosquito bites. Genius!
I don’t know about you, but the Mrs., Little, Big and me are like mosquito magnets. The freckles on our skin must say, “All you can Eat,” in mosquito. We use the stuff that costs and arm and a leg from WF to protect from bug bites. No way my shana madelahs (little girls) are going to get slathered in DEET. Even the EPA, the bastion of protection, says that this stuff is sopoisonous, if you do use it, wash it off immediately when you come inside, don’t breathe around it (how does this work, when you shmear it onlike cream cheese on a bagel?), and don’t spray directly on your face. These machers (big shots) also suggest, wait for it, staying indoors from dawn to dusk. This, they earn salaries for?
I’m no doctor (a Yiddisher Momma, yes, and I watched a lot of House), but DEET kills things. Probably a lot more things than just vampire mosquitos!
Well that’s it for my kvetching (complaining). What on earth are you going to do about this mosquito issue with your families?
Quiet please, for this session is very important…Week 13
Where does it go when 24/7 is the new norm? 81 years is the average age for a woman in the U.S. to live, less so for a man. How do we spend our time? What makes us happy? What constitutes a life well lived? I suppose those answers change from person to person.
I’m soon to be 636 months old. Am I doing the things that matter to me? Am I grateful? What do I want more of? What do I do too much of? If I have roughly 336 months left, how should they be spent? How could they be spent?
I work really hard. I do not have wealth, and I am rich in many ways. I live with extreme physical pain, and I savor the many pleasurable feelings of joy. I have had struggles and tsuris (troubles) for what feels too long a time, and I revel in laughter and glee. I have been hurt and I seek no harm to others. I’m not where I want to be, physically or fiscally, and I am so lucky to be surrounded by those I love and who love me.
This life, it seems it is filled with hundreds of invisible tugs of war that one encounters at unpredictable checkpoints along the way. Everyone’s road is different. Sometimes one can pass through the obstacles with ease while others require extra adeptness and newfound compassion.
Where is the balance among the commotion? How does one teeter what feels good and what hurts? Ethics, morals, values, pain, conflict, money, love, empathy, gratitude, compassion…is there a pattern? I don’t have that answer. I don’t see a pattern.
If time is finite, I need handle it with care. If energy is fixed, I should expend wisely. If my body craves healing, I need to treasure restoration. I fear there is no bargaining at this table.
I do work that is meaningful. My heart lives for and with my family, great friends. Such naches (joy and happiness) I get, from theMrs. and der kinder (the children). I hold my loved ones closely and dearly. I am grateful.
Thanks for letting me speak (well, okay, type). I can stop kvetching (complaining), at least about time, for I think I have resolved the answer to my enigma. Wish me much mazel (good luck)!
Are you living your life well? A bei gezunt (As long as your healthy)!
For the past several weeks/months, Big has had a very sleepy, jiggly, wiggly loose front baby tooth. Keep in mind, she is 8, and has only lost two teeny teeth (the lower front biters) to date. Big, just like the Mrs., is very sensitive. I have joked, “Big will need crutches before this tooth untethers!” Eating has become fascinating. All foods must be cut narrow and thin, to slide in on the right side, so as not to aggravate or exacerbate said upper left tooth. My shana madelah (beautiful little girl) was tolerating little cuts to her right cheek, trying desperately not to let anything come anywhere near the incapacitated dental vicinity.
Well, while on our family spring break, Little somehow gives Big some kind of unexpected zetz (a George Foreman like punch) in maxillary central…and don’t you know, both front baby incisors were now flapping in the wind like laundry on a clothesline. Oh the tears. Little and remorse? Not so much. We were all ferhklempt (choked with emotion).
So what do we do? Like all good Jews, we nosh (eat a little something). A few scoops of ice cream later, she was back and ready for vacation action.
Fast-forward a few days, add another zetz (from you know who), and Big comes begging me to end her toothy tsuris (troubles).
“Mommy, Mommy, please! Just pull them out! I can’t take it anymore!” I cupped her sad, teary face and said to my bubelah (sweet heart), “Honey, are you sure?”
“Yes! Please! Just do it!”
And without even a tug, with barely a touch, her two front teeth fell gently into my hands. I hugged her, we all cheered and kvelled (oozed with pride) over her bravery. A regular Merida, she was. This simcha (joyous day) will bring the much-anticipated tooth fairy here, to the Manor!
And as I welled up with pride, and looked through the tunnel, now fully opened in her newly formed smile, I winced with a venti-sized dose of shpilkas (anxiety/pins and needles). My Big, our first bubelah (sweet little girl), she is growing up.
Cell phone courtesy: Please turn ‘em off – therapy is in session
Answer: 60 to 125 times a day
Question: On average, how many times do we check our cell phones each day?
So, I ask you, are you average, above average? Stellar perhaps? Just how tethered are you? Can you give it up? Would you? I have to admit, mine goes everywhere with me. Apple had me at, “iHello.” And to be honest (we are in therapy after all) the phone is my least favorite feature. It’s that dreamy camera—the ability to capture my kinder (kids) in every escapade imaginable. Kodak moments? Not so much (who prints when we can swipe?). Between the Mrs. and me, we record every waking moment of our lives with Little and Big. Second children no longer have to grow up unnoticed (and needing therapy); Little is in just as many pictures as Big.
please watch this short video…my mishpocheh (family) in action. That Kenny, he’s got the making of a star! Nu? Thank you to my nephew, Max-a-lah, for making such a video!
What on earth did we all talk about before everyone on the planet got a smart phone? I vaguely recall long, lovely, limitless, uninterrupted time to myself. I walked the dogs (furry first children) and was totally one with them in nature. I could run to the store and pick up a script without a care. I actually peed without bringing a phone in the bathroom. The Mrs. and I, we schmoozed (chatted) about everything, snuggling on the sofa watching Olivia Benson kicking some major butt!
There were no electronic farts, noises, beeps, or music telling me about a new email, a tweet, a status update, a news alert, or a lightening strike within my immediate proximity. I was not instantaneously answerable to anyone. I think I was still okay? I managed to meet with friends and family and not call if someone was 10 seconds late (of course, I’m Jewish, so I imagined them dead by the curb, or on a respirator in the hospital, but which hospital? Oy). I knew how to dress for the weather because I walked out the front door to check. I was up to date on the news and current events; I definitely held my own during many a ‘water cooler’ conversation. My landline rang and I let the answering machine get it. Yes, I was a proud screener.
I’m positive we talked more before smart phones. I used to take time out of my day to write letters and send cards to people for special occasions. Now, I can text or instant message birthday wishes, Mazel Tov’s or even my deepest sympathies. Why even say how I feel? There is an amazing array of emoticons for every expression. Feelings? Feh!
Oh Siri, how I love and hate you so… Like Google on crack, so many answers you have? This techno age is meshuggeneh (crazy). Being connected is so easy, yet I look around at restaurants, on the train, even walking, and everyone is looking at his or her phones. Talking to each other? Not so much.
Was life better before? Is life better now? I don’t know. I do know life is faster now. Yet, somehow, it’s a lot easier to feel disconnected, being so connected. It’s a shonda (a shame). WTF?