Did you really just text me a zinger like that?

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Shush! Therapy is in session. Phones off.

Kvetch (rant) week 16: Texting has gotta stop!

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:

  1. Slowly and surely slash social human interaction
  2. Cause senseless arguments and misinterpretations
  3. 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 everything now 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.

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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 bei gezunt. (We should all live and be well).

Can you give it up? Tell me about it, won’t you?

 

 

 

 

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Thank You so much Su, from EthanEvelyn.com! #FabFridayPost
Thank You so much Su, from EthanEvelyn.com! #FabFridayPost
Bloggers Pit Stop #23 Mwah Ladies!
Bloggers Pit Stop #23
Mwah Ladies!

Fresh from the Mouth of Little

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After relentless explanation from the Mrs. and me to both Little and Big about being quiet, having a quiet voice, being considerate of our neighbors above us and below us, this little gem of a conversation happened when I came home from work. Backpack not even off yet; very serious tone from Little

Little: M. is quiet all the time. Like even when she talks.

Me: Well maybe you can learn a thing or two from M., and share it with your sister?
Little:  Well (very long and pregnant pause), she throwed up today.
End of conversation! Oh how I love my shana madelah (little girl)!
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Today’s blog is brought to you by the letter B!

The Buss, photo credit willowandsage1 (the Mrs.)
The Buss, photo credit willowandsage1 (the Mrs.) 

Big B, Little b, what begins with B?

Botox begins with B

Also known as Botulism toxin or BTX. And for this Botox we are not talking about leveling out the creases, crinkles and wrinkles that now beautify my pain strained face. Nope. This Botox will be injected into the back of my neck and all over my scalp to plainly paralyze the pain. In return, I will also sport the back head and cranium of an 18 year-old. The goal of injecting botulism is to aid and abet my bionics in controlling the incredulous chronic discomfort caused by occipital neuralgia, cervical dystonia, bruxism and the other dreck (crap) that can basically be defined as a PAIN IN MY NECK.

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Bionics begins with B

Bionics as in the little machine installed just above my right tuchas (butt) cheek. Its wires wend their way up to the occipital borough of my neck where the magical leads are proficiently positioned. Bionics, from Boston Scientific, alters my brain waves to say, “Hey, that doesn’t hurt so much, ya know?” Bionics are a game changer.

Big Pharma begins with B

Big Pharma is akin to the prescription drug biz that makes medications like Botox. These meds cost big bucks, despite having Blue Cross Blue Shield. What’s an exorbitant bill? When your co-pay is similar to your take home pay.

Boychiks (two young lads) begins with B

Boychiks, as in my two neurological besties, who continue to offer benefits like both Botox and Bionics. These medical miracle makers, yes, they’re doctors, give me hope for better days ahead.image

 Bubelah’s (the affectionate way of referring to my girls) begins with B

My bubelah’s, der kinder (the kids), my shana madelahs (pretty little girls) and of course, the Mrs., they bring me such joy each day—well, basically each and every day! They are hope and my daily simcha (joyous occasion). 

Buds begin with B

Buds are the hope that comes with spring, and quite frankly things like Botox and Bionics. Buds make me beam and believe in warmer clime and sunnier times.

 

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Blogging begins with B

Blogging makes me happy.  Blogging makes me blissful. It gives me a healthy outlet to vent, share and kvell (boast), and allows me entrée to you, my therapists. Blogging is cathartic and liberating. Hopefully, it somehow touches you in a beneficial way, or at least makes you beam or chortle a bissel (little).


A bei gezunt (As long as you are healthy.).
 Well, it almost begins with B.  Nu?

 

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Perhaps, green bananas

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Maybe I’m mishuggenah (crazy) today, but these words kept circling my mind, and I felt the need to share them:

The cold came quickly

Lingering emotionless

Playing heartlessly

 

Searching for the light

Clinging to the expectation

Perhaps green bananas

 

The moon was in half

Less big, less vivid in thoughts

The tears are cleansing

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Rant, Shmant, as long as I can vent…Week 4

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Quiet: Therapy session number four in progress (Readers remember, you are my therapists!)

This week, my shpilkas (excessive worry) is about, well,  for the sake of brevity, I will limit it to three things:

  • Racial tension
  • Flint, Michigan
  • Donald Trump

When I look at this list, I realize the things that are constant in all of these very real topics, are trust and hope, or a real lack thereof.

Pistanthrophobia: The fear of trusting someone, something. Is that my problem? Is it really so wrong to want to believe in reliability and truth? I’m not asking for rose-colored glasses. We all started school with some wonderful nursery and/or kindergarten teacher that reinforced this basic notion of not becoming a shmuck (jerk, a-hole)? Yet look at the news. Look at what has become acceptable in our culture.

I pass this church every day on my way to and from work. The t-shirts are representative of the #BlackLivesMatter movement in Philadelphia
I pass this church every day on my way to and from work. The t-shirts are representative of the #BlackLivesMatter movement in Philadelphia

Racial tension: We call it ‘tension’ when we KILL innocent people because we are not comfortable with the color of their skin? Unarmed black teenagers are being killed by armed white police officers. White people kill black kinder (children) carrying skittles and iced tea. Tension is nervousness, anxiety, aka shpilkas. This is not racial tension. This is an abomination! An atrocity!

We need to own up to the fact that we have a real problem of racial bias in our country. Yes, we elected a black president, but we prove all too often that we are not color blind. Our president had to discuss this during his last State of the Union message. He said we have real problems between blacks and whites in our country.

The problems are learned behaviors. No one is born a racist, they are taught. When will there be a time that we all welcome difference, diversity. Embrace it. Vey is mer (woe is me, this is shocking!)… A shonda (such a shame)

 

Flint, Michigan: Color me skeptical, but if the big machers (important people) in Flint have been lying to their citizens for years (decades maybe), what other cities are under fire? Do we only know about Flint because the water flowed brown? Lead pipes are all over. Cities are adding anti-corrosive treatments to water systems so we don’t see the brown, taste the weirdness and measure the lead? What’s in the anti-corrosives? Look at what is going in Pennsylvania alone (thank you vox.com) where we have 18 cities with higher levels of lead than Flint! Oh, to be safe, please, drink bottled water in the meantime. Then, mittendrinnen (in the middle of this three ringed circus), Pepsi comes out and says, Oops. That Dasani you’ve been drinking. Tap water. Is that so wrong?

So now, there is a FAST START plan to replace all of the lead pipes in Flint. Th plan is based based on a lot of “assumptions.” Well, we know what happens when you assume…

These gonifs (thief’s) do/did gornischt (nothing) because green was a color they liked better than brown. Vey is mer (woe is me, this is shocking!)… A shonda (such a shame)

Donald Trump. Really? The man with the chutzpah (balls, kahunas, unmitigated gall) who said, “I could stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shoot somebody, okay, and I wouldn’t lose any voters, okay?” “It’s, like, incredible.”

The audience laughed. I got chills.

Donald is leading the way by preaching fear to the American people. He is stoking the flames of panic by using every stereotype available about race, religion, ethnicity and immigration. He has no appetite for women’s rights or marriage equality. This is the man that may be placing the next SCOTUS members?

Will Kim Kardashian be his VP? Will the Oval office become the next big TV Nielsen ratings killer?

“Did you see the Donald on Weorst Wing last night? Yeah, he pushed the button and 86-ed three global leaders! Said two of them were bad and one was just ugly. It was so awesome, dude.”

While this is the stuff of dreams for SNL writers and comedians, this is real for you and me. Vey is mer (woe is me, this is shocking!)…A shonda (such a shame)

Little and Big deserve better, don't you think?
Little and Big deserve better, don’t you think?

I have two little girls that need to grow up in this United States. I want for them a world that is good, kind and empathic. As I keep saying, writing, in hopes that it will take off and become reality, #HumanityMatters.

 

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Out of the mouths of Babes…Heaven

BFF's at the shore
BFF’s at the shore 

The Mrs. told me a story that I often replay in my head. Mind you, this detail is hearsay. She, Little and Big were at their ‘besties’ house for a play date after the start of the school year.

Big and her BFF somehow got on the topic of discussing heaven. Mind you, the BFF brought this topic up. She said it was the most beautiful place ever, with harps and pearly gates and great scenery. Her Grandma had told her all about it. She mentioned Jesus and angels and all sorts of things. Big, turning pensive for just a moment, replied to her BFF, “Well, I’ve been to Tuscany!”

Now, to be fair, ‘besties’ Mom, a true pragmatist, interrupted with, “Now M, we don’t know if heaven is real. Nobody has come back and told us about it. No one has let us know there are real angels…”

I love this! I laugh out loud every time it comes to mind. What a stunning answer from Big. From my perspective, Tuscany is, well, heavenly. The food. The scenery. The smells. Our time together with family…She just may be right? It was, to say the least, a great response!

For the record, I was raised Jewish. I went to Hebrew school and decided against becoming a Bat Mitzvah (rite of passage into adulthood, still deemed more important for boys than girls—think Barbara Streisand and Yentl; also, a ridiculously expensive party), because quite frankly, I didn’t have the chutzpah (balls) to stand up in front of a big crowd and read from the Torah (Scrolls containing the Five books of Moses), sing and speak Hebrew, and garner all that attention. (Remember, I did not have a voice until my 30’s.)

As a kid, we spent a lot of time vacationing in the Borscht Belt (very popular resort hotels for Jews located in the Catskill Mountains of upstate New York). I use Yiddish in my writing, a very robust language that is dying, because it really drives home the point in a way that plain English can’t offer. I love this language. It reminds me of my very loving, very wonderful, Nanny Helen. A time when I was known as “Lisa-la.” I can almost smell the ruggaluch (wonderful sweet Jewish cookies) baking when I shut my eyes…I’m no maven (expert) with my Yiddish usage, but I do hope to keep it alive buzzing.

I don’t really practice Judaism. I love the culture and the Haimish’a (warm and friendly) feel, but I lost my faith when I lost my Aunt Mimi. No amount of prayer stopped her pain and suffering. No amount of prayer made her get better. No amount of prayer made me feel better about losing her. Prayer didn’t let me understand that she went to a better place. Azoy vert dus kuchel tzekrokhen. (Literally, this means: That’s the way the cookie crumbles!)

Please know and understand that I do not begrudge anyone with religious beliefs. In fact, I am a bit envious. I do practice Tai Chi and being a good person.

 

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All that being said, the Mrs. is a non-practicing shiksa (non-Jewish female). Many would find that alone a shonda (tragedy). I think it’s pretty awesome. Our kinder (the children), shana madelahs (beautiful little girls) that they are, learn diversity and acceptance (#HumanityMatters) right here, under our roof. That translates exponentially to the outside world, where it is so desperately needed. (It also provides the best of the holiday season, with celebrations of both Chanukah and Christmas.)

So that’s my shtick (funny story) and I’m sticking to it. L’ Chiam (To life!) and Zey gezunt (go in good health).

 

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Thanks to theAnxiousDragonsBlog

Yesterday was a bad day, so today will just have to be better!

What number do I call?
What number do I call?

Warning: Yesterday was a bad day, physically, emotionally, and all the other ‘–ally’s’ you can imagine. Little, Big and the Mrs., I apologize for any shortness or biting sarcasm that you were subject to. I try hard not to have this happen, and I know that I am merely mortal.

It started bad from the get-go. The sleep thief, gonif that she is, must have stolen whatever good was needed from my slumber. My body did not feel good and that made Tai Chi difficult. My balance was off and my neck throbbed. Other body parts didn’t line up to cooperate so much either. I pushed through it. Coffee, made expertly (by me) thick and strong, seemed useless. I needed a day like this like a loch in kop.

Little, she woke up in some state of mind! Unfortunately, it was the same one she brought with her to bed the previous night. Magically, she started right in, not skipping a beat or missing a refrain from the prior cockamamie behavior. Some days, my little pisher can really carry on.

I searched deeply, counting backwards from 10-Mississippi to zero and back again, breathing consciously. My sunny disposition was nowhere to be found. Is there a locator app for that? I was tired and my body wasn’t right. I had one bar left on my occipital stimulator, so I knew that by mid-day, I would run out of power (I did). Not so good for a day before a snowstorm. G’zai gezunt…

I made school lunches from bits and scraps. Our kitchen held a startling resemblance to Old Mother Hubbard’s place. This is no dig to the Mrs., as we are artfully trying a new pennywise purchasing plan by food shopping just twice a month and holding to a fixed dollar amount. We still have some work to do here. (Insert feelings of failure, as said family provider. Some breadwinner…I know, but like I said, I had a drecky day.) Big’s Friday lunch remains were still in her lunchbox. Let’s just say, yogurt that sits ‘outside the box’ for three days does not yield a good result for anyone when the container is uncapped. Not an aroma fit for my dicey stomach. Oy. 10-Mississippi…

Luckily, Nona loaded us up with bagels and some fixings yesterday. It would be PB&J for Big, and due to Little’s allergies, sunflower nut butter and honey. Since I wasn’t spit-spot on, I mistakenly made both sandwiches peanut butter. Luckily, I checked myself, thus preventing a possible predicament of anaphylaxis (phew). I quickly made a third bagel sandwich correctly for my shana Little. Vey iz mer! 10-Mississippi…

The commute to work had its usual share of crummy drivers and folks giving me the finger for going the speed limit. (Really, when was the last time you either ‘shot the bird,’ or were on the receiving end of one?) I shout, “Gai cocken afin yom (go shit in the ocean)” from the top of my lungs in the car, windows closed. 10-Mississippi…hey, no one shot me with a bullet, so that alone was a mitzvah! Sunny Dee, is that you? Nope, just my sardonic wit trying to raise a smile.

NPR and XPN were still in the midst of their radio fund drives. Ugh…Just look at the damned scenery and breathe it in. 10-Mississippi… My commute traces the same locales that make up many Thomas Eakins paintings. It’s beautiful no matter the weather, my mood, or the mean-spirited, speed racers that occupy the road with me daily. Smidgeons of Jonas were still around and I was able to find parking close to the office. All good. 10-Mississippi…

I get to work, fire up the computer and start the day. I completely fake feeling fine and dandy with everyone. No one even raises an eyebrow or questions this; I am that good. As I walk downstairs to talk with a co-worker, I spot a mouse, flat-out dead in a trap in the kitchen. Of mice and women. 10-Mississippi…

Enough already. No more kvetching

Today is Tuesday. It will be a better day. I think Sunny Dee, my inner Mary Poppins, is back. Body still crapy and I’m still faking it, but that’s okay. I’m an expert. Snow dusted the cars last evening, so the 4-8 inch hype (one place where size matters…) from the weather advisory folk was wrong. The kinder will be disappointed. No Olaf building today.

I’m about to try some Tai Chi. Hope you all have a good day.

 

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Moments in the dead of night

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It seems like I have 4 kinds of moments in the wee hours of the night. Sleep interrupted.

  1. Manor moments: aka, the walls, they have ears. Our mystery (I wouldn’t know them if I fell on top of them) neighbors that live directly above us in apartment T4, lead a very, well ‘er, active late-night existence. Such ‘fiery devotion’ for each other; Oy how I fear Valentine’s Day! Usually the, uhhh dance, begins with some very loud and disruptive rap music. Rap music? Mind you, this is unsettling to us…Little and Big awaken and are scared. The , kaynahorah, she has a temper…and can bang and yell at the ceiling. The love shack above? They are very pleased with their musical selection, and let’s say, the shtupping begins. Mittendrinnen, the Mrs. is frantically searching Spotify, seeking a LOUD lullaby for the kinder. This to both mask the verbose, verboten vocabulary shared amongst the passionate paramours overhead and quash the questions der kinder may ponder as to what may be occurring. This we don’t need at 1-something am on a school night. A bei gezunt…they should live and be well!
  1. Shpilkas specials: These are those dreaded times when the bladder, she calls, and calls, and calls. And during at least one of these nightly treks, my brain awakens with whatever I fear most, at that very moment. Bills, pain, family, disease, work, politics, life, death–in any random order. So the brain, she keeps revving…the baggage under the eyes grows and morning sets in well before sleep. And, as they say, you can’t outrun the moon. I just get up and do. A bissel more sleep each night, I could hope for. But, you get what you get, and you don’t get upset. 
  1. Points of Pain: The 2:12 am tap on the shoulder. Like I should be so lucky; it’s more a mad kick to the back of the head. My heart, it pounds like Poe’s Telltale Heart. I look over to the , to Little and Big, certain they will stir from the sound of this thumping. This flare up places my kishkas in over drive. At once, tiny beads of sweat form over my entire body. Neck mobility is gone. Every move hurts. The weight of my head on my shoulders is too much to bear; yet somehow, I must make it to the bathroom. Everything inside my body wants to escape the pain in any way it can. North. South. Usually both. No medicine stops it. I reach for my remote control (occipital stimulator) and increase the velocity of my bionics. I’m pleading with the pain to lessen. It’s my “Please, no…please, no” dance. (For laypeople without chronic pain, imagine the dance you do when you use someone’s toilet and it’s about to overflow. That’s the best I can do…) Will I make it through this episode? Will the meds work? Will I be horizontal and dehydrated for days? Will I miss work? Miss life? How much time will I not get back. I may speak a lot of Yiddish, but for me, I get no comfort from prayer. My iPhone-G has no connection. 
  1. Kinder Naches: Little and Big, they still sleep with us. Don’t get me started on sleep, or lack there of…it’s the mantra of parenthood. But sometimes, I wake up in the night and just observe the quiet beauty of the kinder and the I hear the faint sounds of their breath, see the expressions on their faces; realize the joy I take in from these three. My muses. It’s a mitzvah. I lay back down. I smile. I sleep again. Clearly, this is my very favorite of the foursome.

Someday, I’ll have a good night’s sleep. But for now, there’s plenty to do in the waking hours. Moments of good health, moments of not so much. Here’s to a great day!

 

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Rant, Shmant, as long as I can vent…Week 3

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Quiet! Third therapy session in progress

The amount of shpilkas I’m experiencing from just the news alone; I could plotz. It’s getting worse as Little and Big are growing and asking more and more sizable questions about the planet and the people who surround us. They are going to have to live in this world, clearly a work in progress (perhaps I use this term loosely), and I am fearful of so many things.

Oy vey, this week. Caucusing! What nudnik came up with this process? We schmooze, we kibbitz, we vote. And then, straight from the clown car, Cruz cruises into the main ring? The top three from that car, vey iz mir! These party leaders, who hold punishing values and regressive perspectives toward women, gays, sick, aged, underprivileged people. And science? They allow for religion to trump science (yes, I used that T-word on purpose). There is an age-old Yiddish curse that I offer to these GOP machers: May every tooth in your head fall out, except one, so you can get a toothache! Then I add to this Yiddisher-spell, deal with the fact you no longer have dental insurance!

Oh Bernie, how I feel you and the tie/loss. I do not believe this country, my country, can or will elect a lantzman. Hillary, you squeezed success by merely a bissel. Everyone please read her emails. The state department releases them in bunches (like your panties) each month because they are public record. See who she really is. Forget the blue pants suit already. A shonda.

While I’m on the government and this merry-go-round of Looney-tunes, I must say the water crisis in Flint, this disgusting, inhumane cover-up—how can we do this to our own people? How can we do this at all, and sit back and deny, deny, deny. How do these politicians and GM corporate gonifs sleep at night? What do you do when your tap water starts to look like coffee and the EPA says, “it’s all good; drink up!” If not Flint, where else? What don’t we know? What are we drinking? Pepsi, the behemoth of bottlers even revealed that their Dasani bottled water is simply tap water. Tap water from where? I’m in Pennsylvania, the fracking epicenter. You think I feel good about our water? A shonda.

Voter apathy. People, if you care at all, please register to vote now. Primaries are looming. They matter. Read about the people seeking the biggest, most undesirable and scrutinized job in our nation, because you have ‘say.’ Make your decision and please, no matter whom you choose, VOTE. I know, the roster has been meh at best…but your voice, it matters. On November 8th of this very year, your VOTE matters. Get yourself ready to vote because #humanitymatters.

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If not for you, please, for my Little and Big and your kinder too.

#humanitymatters

 

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TY linky 2-5-16

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Our House Must be Covered in Sick!

Stick Houses

There was a middle-aged Momma

who lived at the Manor

with two kinder, the Mrs.

Life couldn’t be grander.

 

Little and Big

went to school each day

to learn and experience

the progressive way.

look

The thing that would happen

as in all schools, they do

Farshtunkeneh germs

and dreck like the flu.

 

We were crawling with what

must have been going around

a cure for this mishegas

could not be found.

 

Those microbes are causing such chaos, you see

for Little and Big, the Mrs. and me

with every ‘–itis’ kaynahorah, we all seem to catch

it’s no wonder we sound just like one great big kvetch.

trees

On Sunday we said, “Enough is enough!”

let’s stop this kockamayme condition

Let’s go outside and feel the sun on our backs

We can’t sit here and keep up this bitchin’.

 

So we picked up our meds, we headed outdoors

to meet Nonna at the arbor museum

we laughed, ran and played on this beautiful site

we had fun, we were happy and gleesome!

with Nonna

For those we encountered as we sought healthier ground

Please know we dare not have shared

For Jonas had left us a blanket of snow

Killing germs while we romped unimpaired

 

 

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Rant Shmant, As long as I can vent…Week 2

Have a Seat, Lisa
Have a Seat, Lisa

Quiet….Second Therapy Session in Progress

I gotta say, my kishkas are really in knots over the Second Amendment. I believe, we as a country, are snow-balling towards greater tsuris each day. My Little and Big, shana madelas that they are, will grow up in this world. The Mrs. and I, we brought them into a society spiraling out of control, and I worry, oh how I worry, about their safety and wellbeing. Poo, Poo!

I’m talking about guns. Now, as you may have figured out, this lefty, liberal, jewish, lesbian is a tree-hugging, berkenstock wearing, granola chewing (albeit gluten-free) lover of the planet, and a pacifist. Here, in the US, we are picking each other off at alarming rates for no reason. A real shonda. And it all harkens back to this one sentence in the US Constitution:

“A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.” 

Doublespeak? Can you say ambiguous? Masters of grammar and the English language, I think not. Did the Founding Fathers even proofread this very important, horribly written sentence? Did they think about the misinterpretation matrix that ultimately allows those powerful schmucks in the NRA, with their gun-packing followers, to twist and turn these words with such vengeance and fear-mongering?

We can no longer sit back and say Beshert is Beshert. This, my goyim friends, is like when Doris Day would sing Que sera, sera. I say no more to, “whatever will be, will be”…The future is ours. We need to fix this awful mess to make the world safer for our kinder. The boychicks and madelas that so innocently trust, play, and explore, deserve so much more than we currently have to offer.

I can’t tell you how many times, this week alone, I’ve read how a youngster has found a gun in their home, and either accidentally killed their sibling or themselves. Shonda. Think about our president, who has held almost weekly prayer vigils for all of the mass shootings that continue to happen in this country. George Zimmerman is claiming, “Stand your Ground!” and getting off scott-free! People are shooting people. People are shooting cops. Cops are shooting unarmed people. Think about how 30,000+ lives are taken from us here, in this country, due to senseless gun violence. Shonda. Think how nothing has changed since Sandy Hook. Nothing! Shonda. This, they call rights?

Then, we couple these unthinkable acts with the GOP frontrunner (curiously, rhymes with RUMP), a real no-goodnik, who has the chutzpah to so proudly state this week in the news, while holding a rifle, “I could stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shoot somebody and I wouldn’t lose any voters, okay?”  They call him a candidate to lead this country? Shonda.

People, it’s harder to buy a car or rescue a dog, than it is to buy a gun. It’s harder to buy allergy meds at your local pharmacy! 30,000+ each year. At school. At the movies. At work. At play. Where will it happen next. Who is next? Why doesn’t it stop? Why is it escalating. The answer is always the same. Money. Money. Money. Inspiring fear sells guns. Kindling the misguided news that ‘we’ are out to take your guns, sells more guns. Ignorance, racism and bigotry sells more guns.

So, who among you will help me make this planet safer for the kinder? Help us to STAND OUR GROUND and be safe. We need to VOTE and to use our VOTES wisely people. Our kids depend on it. Humanity matters and should not be stolen so capriciously and painfully.

L’chiam! To life!

FabFridayNewYear1 with  and @ethannevelyn

 

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Versatile Blogger Award

Photo by willowandsage1 aka: The Mrs.
Photo by willowandsage1
aka: The Mrs.

What a way to start a day! A great big THANK YOU to the extraordinary and brilliant blogger, Amy Punt, over at Insights From the Edge, for her most kindhearted nomination! Amy, such a master, a maven, you flat out made my week. It’s a mitzvah to be recognized for my writing (I’m kvelling!)!

Here are the rules, and I will do my best to dot every i and cross every t. Poo Poo!

  • Thank the person who nominated you and link up to their blog
  • Nominate at least 15 bloggers of my choice, including links to each one so you, my lovely readers can see what I am talking about! (When thinking about The Versatile Blogger, one must keep in mind writing style, technique, uniqueness of  subject matter and the level of love that exudes from the words on their pages)
  • Share seven facts about yourself

So, here are 7 things about me that you may not yet be Google worthy:

  1. By day, I am an artists agent, selling the work of some of the most creative illustrators and animators that span the globe
  2. I get up each day at 4 am so I have time to write, think, and share my blog, all before the din of the day arises with the Mrs., Little and Big. It’s like therapy, only cheaper
  3. I used to own and operate a small pet boutique with the Mrs., and another couple called, In the Doghouse (Because pets are good people!)
  4. I’m a Certified Coffee Master (and I’ve been drinking that delicious nectar of the gods since I was 5 years old)
  5. I love pugs
  6. I’m Jewish, but not at all religious. This Yiddish spiel, it comes from a love of this dying, robust language that oozes expression and flavor
  7. The Mrs., she’s a shiksa, so our kids get the joys of both Christmas and Chanukah, sometimes refered to as, ‘Chanamas’

And now, I present to you, my nominations for this honor, The Versatile Blogger Award. Click on these links and find yourself in the pages of some incredibly gifted folks and all around alrightniks. Everyone has a special point of view, can elicit emotion, and is just pretty awesome. Mazel Tov to you all! (in random order):

  1. All in a Dads Work
  2. lifeexperimentblog
  3. bumbismom
  4. Ethan and Evelyn
  5. kingofstates
  6. lisajakub
  7. Just Me Coloring Outside the Lines
  8. Hugzilla
  9. The Boeskool
  10. Perfection Pending
  11. Self-Actualized Events
  12. Susan Rushton
  13. A Body of Hope
  14. Developing Dad
  15. Peg-o-leg’s Ramblings

And, my dear Amy Punt, you are a rock star! Such a gift, I thank you for!

Versatile Blogger Award
Versatile Blogger Award

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Have a super Thursday all!

 

 

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? 

 

Linky Live a la agent spitback!
This is a Linky Live post via agent spitback! TY!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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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.

An InLinkz Link-up

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FabFridayNewYear1

Aa, Bb, Cc, in pictures

My Nannala
My Nannala, and me, a little pisher…

Aa is for Alte Kocker: an old fart, old and complaining; kvetching. This is a picture of my Nannala and me–I was a young pisher and she was my favorite Alte Kocker. Oh how I miss her unconditional love and sense of humor. My Little, she gets a lot from this one…

Kine-horrah, that is one big ball!
Kine-horrah, that is one big ball! Little, Big, be careful!

Bb is for Ball: 1. kneidlach; matzoh balls, 2. chutzpah; has a set

The only way to brew...thank you to our dear friends Robert and Laura who had the good sense to change our lives forever
The only way to brew a cuppa…thank you to our dear friends Robert and Laura, who had the good sense to help us change our lives forever. Poo Poo!

Cc is for Coffee: You think without my coffee, I can have such a conversation? I’m verklempt; emotionally overwhelmed…Cc is also for ChemEx, the only way to brew. What, you don’t believe, kish’m tuchas! You suffer.

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This post has been inspired by the community event: Alphabet

Reason to Believe? Reason to Question?

Attachment-1

I have a good mind to trust in the fact that things do not happen for a reason. This, despite everything my father has ever taught me. Good stuff would happen. Bad stuff would happen. His response was always, “Everything happens for a reason.” He literally put the kibosh on my investigative, pre-Google era, inquisitive mind.

I tried to grasp this mantra of his around in my mind as a child often, completely unknowing that this was his, and was pure hooey. This was just another way for the sweeper to keep sweeping. I would watch my mother in astonishment from the corner of my eye as she would methodically turn the electric oven in our kitchen on and off for some 45 minutes to an hour daily, ritualistically. “Warm. Off. Off. Off. Warm. Off. Off. Off.” Was there a purpose here that I was missing? Did other oven users do this? Was this behavior described in the manual for best use? Interrupt the ceremony, and it would begin again. Okay, let’s have turning off the oven; TAKE 2—and, ACTION! “Hey Dad, why does she…” “Let her be, everything happens for a reason.”

The front door lock brought a similar practice for her, following the oven. “Click, opened. Click, locked. Click, opened. Click, locked.” I can vividly hear the clicking noise now if I close my eyes. I can see the blank look on her face as she tested that lock without limit. I couldn’t bear to put a time on this this behavior. It felt endless. One evening, after a few too many clicks, the lock stopped working. The emergency locksmith came out that night to fix the overworked doorknob. Once newly installed, “Click, opened. Click, locked. Click, opened. Click, locked.” So the game began again. “Hey Dad, why does she…” “Let her be, everything happens for a reason.”

butterflyTrimming the lawn with scissors, after the landscapers mowed. Raking the carpet after the vacuum left its pattern. Straightening the creases in the sofa pillows after someone sat down. Getting the dust ruffle just right under the bed so that the pleats read evenly. Rearranging the jellybeans in the bowl because someone ate one or three. Hiding the wires from the television behind the leaves of the plants. Straightening our personal desk drawers. Having a trash can in the bathroom that was not to be used for any trash–verboten. These were the things that filled her days. Every day. “Hey Dad, why does she…” “Let her be, everything happens for a reason.”

This response was not saved for just my mother’s mishegas (later known as extreme, undiagnosed OCD). My grandmother was diagnosed with ovarian cancer the exact same week I learned in high school about how cancer begins with improper cell division. “See, everything happens for a reason.” Suddenly, I was terrified to further my learnings about science, health, and biology. Who of my dear relatives would fall next? Was my Nanny victimized to further drive home the point of my father’s absurd refrain? This just could not be so.

The AIDS crisis began in 1981. I had just graduated from high school and this new, terrorizing disease was killing the gay community by the masses. “See, everything happens for a reason.” “But dad, what reason could make this happen? And out came hatred and fear and bigotry. And a greater understanding of the dreck from which he spoke.

politifact-photos-12113317_920729551350503_850292094829865796_oI think now on so many things throughout history, life. Slavery. War. The Holocaust. Terrorism. 911. Racism. Mental Illness. Columbine. Sandy Hook. Aurora. San Bernardino. Oregon. Black lives matter. All lives matter. Ebola. AIDS/HIV. Cancer. Heart disease. Stroke. Hypertension. Driving while texting. Drinking and Driving. Addiction. Chronic pain. Malnutrition. Hunger. Homelessness.

What I have learned was Dad was wrong. He still is wrong. Bad stuff happens. Good stuff happens. Someone, somewhere cannot possibly make these horrid things occur with intention. I have reason to believe that we, as people, are better than that. Oh, and my mom could have been helped with tremendously by medication. Yet she continues, “Click, opened. Click, locked. Click, opened. Click, locked.”

Zie gezunt. They should live and be well.

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This post is in response to the Daily Prompt Reason to Believe

Worry, Shmorry

worry 1

I will not worry at all today

No matter what may come my way

Big and Little will return unscathed

We’ll laugh, we’ll play, and we’ll get them bathed

 

I will not anguish about the Mrs.

And whether we left without our kisses

Her yoga mat will bring much solace

Her mind, her soul, her day– be flawless

 

worry 3

I will not fear about the election

Despite the scary conservative selection

Vancouver is lovely all year round

If a nutcase wins, that’s where we’re bound

 

I will not torment over the economy

Our finances vs. wealth, a true dichotomy

‘Cuz cars are up and job growth’s good

And the stock market will recover, in all likelihood?

 

I will not be burdened about national security

Or blowing ISIS and ISIL to obscurity

It will be safe to go to the mall

Or to a theatre, or down the hall

 

I will not panic about bigotry and hate

And the ignorance that plagues our world at an alarming rate

Killers and fanatics could show up any place, anywhere

It’s not a dream; it’s a living nightmare

 

POTUS said it’s time for innovation

Let’s focus our work in this dear nation

I will not have shpilkes over cancer, strife and disease

It’s time for greatness, not wannabees

 

worry 2

I will not fret over global warming

Starving polar bears and the earth we are harming

Let’s harness power in the wind and the sun

Can we ever undo what we have done?

 

Should I displace the agony of Sandy Hook and too many others?

The anxiety over this surely smothers

Is our nation viler more than ever?

When will it stop; never say never

 

Worry, shmorry; I’m still afraid

My thoughts still weighted; my hope that will fade

This post was inspired by bumbismom  who wrote the post, Is there an off Button for the Worry?  Check out her talent!

 

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Dear Body, What’s with you?

from my window

To quote Judge Judy (really!), “Du kanst nicht oif meinem fus pishen und mir sagen klass es regen ist.” Translation, “Don’t pee on my foot and tell me it’s raining!” This is no ‘woe is me’ post. I bullshit you not. But c’mon…body? Vus iz dos? Despite it all, I unfailingly (well, 98% mostly) choose the glass half full side of life. Why. Three main reasons (and yes, there are more):

  • The Mrs.
  • Big
  • Little

Hair: I have a lot of hair and for that I am grateful. As a kid, I had light brown hair that would get lovely blonde, sun-kissed streaks. With ah, mmmm, maturity, and less time on the swings, came light brown hair. My crayons began to run out of colors in my mid to late thirties, and so began experimentation in color. I was brown, browner, a touch of red, henna-touched, blonde (very, very bad in hindsight), blonde splashes for ‘softening.’ The Mrs. has had her share of hair-happenings atop my kop. Lucky for us, hair grows out, and I’m pretty easy going. I’ve been my current, au natural, for about the past decade. It’s an overall gray, frosty sheen, with an undercoat (yes, like a dog) of mopsy brown. The result is not the beautiful, white gray coif like Jamie Lee Curtis, Helen Mirren or Kate Moss, but one that is more of a field mouse. You already know how the Mrs. feels about mice…

Hijinks

Eyes: Since first grade you have let me down. If you only knew how mad my mother was at me for needing glasses? Like I had a choice in this gene pool? She didn’t believe that I couldn’t see the chalkboard from my front row seat (geek way before it was trendy) and was mortified when the eye doctor confirmed the prognosis. That was one appointment that I recall very clearly (unlike my vision). Despite mom, I made peace early on with my inner Mr. Magoo. I used to have quite the portfolio of glasses to suit my many moods. Never a lover of clothes shopping, but glasses—hold me back. Those were the non-frugal days of yore. Now, my seamless trifocals come from VisionCrafters. I have but one pair that’s a bit bent out of shape from Little’s rough and tumble play. And, I am now like the Karate Kid working with his mentor, Mr. Miyagi: “Glasses on. Glasses off. Glasses on. Glasses off.” Which is best???

Neck: Oh how I despise you. Not for the usual reasons women hate their necks. You look just fine. Functionally, not so much. I was 18 years old, riding a borrowed bike home from work (“Dermatology Associates, how may I help you?”) when I was hit by (I think it was an old lady, but truth is, only knuckles showed on the steering wheel with a small tuft of blue hair. She drove off, perhaps thinking she ran over a squirrel or something) a car and careened into the center median of a very busy road in south Florida. This was the catalyst for my chronic pain. I got news for you, the borrowed bike didn’t fare so well either. Fast forward a few years into my twenties, and add a few instances of whiplash (Philadelphians perhaps don’t drive so well?). The thirties (maybe why the crayons began losing color) brought on a horrible roller blading accident (who let me on those things) that cracked my helmet in half like an eggshell. As I came to, I recall seeing and hearing cartoon birds chirping over the (three to four versions of the one) man that came running across the street to my rescue. I felt like Wile E. Coyote with an anvil atop my head. “Beep. Beep.” These snowballing concussive events have lead to thirty-two plus years of escalating, loathsome, and agonizing neck pain. I waken each day, 2-3 hours earlier than most, so I can ease out of the cacophony of pain points. I’ll leave out the assortment of accompanying despicable symptoms for now. We’ve got time…Glass half-full here! Lots of visits to countless ‘–ists,’ procedures, meds, surgeries, massages, acupuncture, injections, potions and bionics! Yes, I am a $6 Million Dollar Woman (remember Jamie?) with a remote control for a device placed smack dab in my right tuchas with wiring straight up to my keppie. It actually tricks my brain to think, “hey, that’s not so bad now, is it?” Zap the pain away.

cold

One more thing for now: Hot flashes. While few and far between, you’ve managed to come at every wrong time during the hot summer months. Now, you totally disappear when the temps have dropped to tundra degrees? Nu? As a person who has been cold my entire 633 months on this planet, one would think that just 1 or 2 properly planned convection oven style-flashes would have been nice?

Not a lot of kvetching here because I’m always choosing ‘happy.’ What, like I have another choice? And for those who ponder whether this side of life moves quicker than the first half…I think it’s the same. It feels quicker because of the people we include in our lives, the fun we create, the play we make and the wisdom of our choices. Ennui is no fun. Livin life, staying present is maybe what it is all about.

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One Lovely Blog Award Nominee, who Me?

lovely-blog-awardHonored! I’m so honored! And that is the emmes truth!

Could you believe? Me, a nominee? I gotta send a big hug through the ether to lifeexperimentblog for this bissel of glory! It means a lot to me. I’ll use the famous quote by Sally Field, “They like me! They really, really like me!”

And in return, I will share the rules involved:

  • You must thank the person who nominated you and includes a link to their blog.
  • You must list the rules and display the award
  • You must add 7 facts about yourself
  • You must nominate 15 other bloggers and leave a comment on one of their posts to let them know they have been nominated.

7 facts about me:

  • I was 30-something before I really spoke up
  • I haven’t shut-up since
  • I am married to my best Friend, the Mrs.
  • I am the luckiest Momma in the world because of Little and Big
  • I love pugs, and miss my Atticus and Elijah so much, my heart hurts
  • I will choose ice cream over alcohol every time
  • Despite my short stature, I have a lot of chutzpah (post 33 years of age)

Here are my lovely nominees (in random order):

 

Kudos and Mazel Tov to all! Now go get some nominees.

Thank you again, dear lifexperimentblog! You rule!

 

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Timeless, retro PLAY: We all need it!

Meet the Lego's
Meet the Lego’s

Plato said, “You can tell more about a person in an hour of play than in a year of conversation.” You know what, Plato (sounds a lot like play-doh?), I couldn’t agree more. One of the greatest things now going on in our apartment is P-L-A-Y! I know this is in part due to the amazing progressive school the girls attend, The Miquon School, where I often long to restart my education from the beginning, in nursery school, or even kindergarten. My kinder have it so very good at this magical place where childhood is literally hands-on fun. The kids enjoy learning by doing, exploring, experiencing and well, playing. Independence is vital; curiosity is encouraged; respect for all is absolute. This isn’t just a community; it’s a diverse shtetl for greater childhood development and collaboration!

domino

So, I digress and kvelled a bissel about the magic that takes place daily at our school! Nu! This enchanted, natural, outdoorsy place has an effect that is phenomenal on kids (and their families too). Why? Let me tell you. We live in a crazy, fast paced, over-connected, yet very dis-connected culture. It’s scary how little we really relate to each other now, despite all our techno advances in communications. I remember a time when you met a friend for coffee to ‘tawk,’ or just went to the bathroom in your own home without having to bring your iPhone along. Maybe that ages me more than my now gray-mop of a hairdo. But it’s true. I also remember the delight of receiving a letter by snail mail. No acronyms—all real words, handwritten with intent. How about seeing a photo in print, holding it, watching the colors fade over time. Enough!

jackAbout my kinder and play. The things that they are doing together are absolutely thrilling to me. The hottest stuff from our holiday haul: Classic dominoes, an antique porcelain American Indian doll, who of course, we said was Kaya’s kid-sister (yes, American Girl Kaya), a weaving loom, Lego’s, the original Spirograph deluxe set, and Jacob’s Ladder (yes, the one rumored to be in the tomb with King Tut himself!). Color me silly, but this is the stuff I played with a few too many moons ago. No batteries, no noises, no electronics (not that there’s anything wrong with them), no drones, no bones about it!

 

The giggly-fun that Little and Big have when setting up the dominoes, deciding whose turn it is to tap an end, and starting it all over again. Allo of our right cerebral cortexes are humming the happy dance. Their play is about discovery and the experience. It’s incredible.

jacob

Try if you can to get Jacob’s ladder from the Mrs., who has been dominating that little wooden wonder since the first unwrapping. One night, Big got a hold of it, figured out how it works, and went along to teach the Mrs., Little and me how it works. The gears are spinning in these brains. Curiosity isn’t killing any cats around here. It’s contagious.

 

And Spirograph! How many pens have we been through! The pleasure is all ours! Now, in true Mighty-Girl spirit, we can whip out the snap circuits and Big and Little rush to the floor to get started. Playing with circuitry, light switches, transistors and diffusers, building fans and lights…bring it on and add some more! My little Rosie Revere, Engineers (love that book) can’t get enough. We look around us and easily apply these newly constructed pieces to the ceiling fan, the volume on the radio, the lights. Voila! Questions, inquiry and thoughts are flowing…

 

Most important to this whole equation, I see my bubelah’s growing up to be innovative and creative, critical thinkers who will always love learning. Doctor. Lawyer. Engineer. Who cares? This Jewish momma will not be kvetchin’ or hockin’. They can become whatever it is they want to become, and they will work hard because they know and feel intrinsically that learning is an ‘F’ word—F-U-N. That is pretty damned amazing!

 

As play is concerned, it’s a wonderful time to be a kid. As the world is concerned, well that’s another post altogether.

 

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Parents: in two limericks

Rise above!
Rise above!
There once was a parent who swept
Everything under the rug that he kept
He turned eighty one day
Didn’t like me my way
And that caused emotional debt

 

Swept away
Swept away
There was another parent, you see
Her issues much bigger than me
The sweeper kept sweeping
The debts they kept creeping
If you ask me, an exorbitant fee

 

No schmaltz. No spiel. Just the way it is.
Be authentic. Live and realize your true path, because it is yours.

 

Nu?

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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