The other night, as a family, we watched, An American Girl Story – Melody, 1963: Love Has To Win. It’s a short movie about social injustice and racism during the Civil Rights Movement of the 60’s. Melody, age 10, just like my Big, is a character in the line-up of American Girl dolls and the story of her experiences during this turbulent time in our American History is incredibly important and powerful. We all four, plus Gatsby, snuggled in on the sofa and dimmed the lights.
Melody is immediately likable. Smart, witty, creative, friendly and principled, she is a young African-American girl attending school in a sea of Caucasian students and staff. Her mom provides her with a strong faith for a brighter future. That passion effervesces in all Melody does. Her grandpa, he is a bit more cynical realistic? about this world.
At school, during the Pledge of Allegiancesomething I had to recite every morning in public school growing up, Melody stands atop her desk and cries out, “The Pledge of Allegiance is a lie. It’s a lie!” It may not be this line verbatim, but that is the gist. Melody clearly did not feel that she had the same liberties as her white classmates and she was not afraid to share that sentiment out loud.
While not showing actual violence, the movie did weave in some real-life, heinous acts of racism, moments in time that no one can be proud of… Police brutality, and the one that brought my Big to her knees, the brutal bombing of the church in Birmingham that killed four young black girls. We had to hit pause, up the lights and do our best to explain why such vile, repugnant behavior existed? Exists. My Big, her sobbing was real. She felt the pain and it cut through her big, beautiful, loving, compassionate heart like a knife through butter.
We let her cry it out as we talked about the way things were; the way things are now. The work that still needs to be done. The kinder (kids), they know from #MarchForEquality, #BlackLivesMatter, #WomensRights, #GunsDown, #MomsDemandAction, #NotOneMore… They have been read to and read about Dr. Martin Luther King. They are floored that anyone could be judged or mistreated for the color of their skin. My Little, she even asked if mrt was going to do anything fix racism. Oh, do not get me started on the man that uses the N-word and hangs with white supremacists.
Was it the very best movie ever? No. Yet all told, this movie served us quite well. It sparked a very provocative conversation about racism, skin color, slavery and a lot of the other things that are brought out by hate, misunderstanding, and bigotry in this world.
That 10-year-old Melody, she is a positive force and a role model for strong, mighty girls. Her rebel-girl spirit really got through to my 10-year-old maideleh (little sweet girl). This is why love has to win… it must. This momma is counting on it.
For your children’s sake, you would tear the world apart. Fer kinder tsereist men a velt.
Have you talked about racism in your home with your kids? Maybe Melody needs to visit your place, too. Nu?
Today friends, let me paint you some pictures with my words. Imagine summer as kinderlech (children): bathing suits, swimming pools, hopping through creeks, jumping in puddles. Sleep-overs, scooter rides, hiking, and biking. Ice creamy treats, baking and make your own pizzas. Slides, swings, and sunshine (the scorn that is sunscreen). Dirt, mud, and coils of chlorine tangled pony-tails. Board games, LOL doll surprises, and dance routines. Hula hoops, watermelon, movie nights and popcorn all at the sofa, vey iz mir (woe is me). Being a kid in the summer is magical.
Now, let’s look at this very same season as Muters (Moms): The kinder, they are joyful and giddy from playtime with friends, family, each other. They get hungry, hangry and eat every edible morsel in the pantry and fridge didn’t I just food shop?. They are oysgematert (drop-dead tired) from days packed with fun and frolic and yes, some fighting and varfing (tantrums). Some nights, they even ask to go to bed! Pools, beaches, showers, hair… Towels, oy, they are everywhere. And, they have so many wardrobe changes each and every effing day daily, they would give Cherin concert a run for her money… The grob vesh (dirty laundry) piles high daily. This, not so magical.
Enter the brand new, very expensive, broken, cockamamie (ridiculous)washing machine. Broken not once, not twice, but three times since its inaugural installation in January yes, of this same year, and yes, if you would like to, please see the irony of that other inaugural installation event. It broke again on the 3rd of this month. Today, if you’re counting and you better believe I am counting marks day 15. Customer service mishaps, lost parts orders, summer vacations, and dirty laundry from floor to ceiling.
Now, in the big scheme of things, nisht geferlich (not really so terrible, we are alive, poo-poo). Worse things can do and will happen. The Mrs., she has already taken some 80+ pounds of laundry to the laundromat I chose food shopping.
So now, I offer you this picture: I am fully clothed, save for a belt and sneakers. I walk into our shower. There is a small lump of laundry littering the floor near the bench. I turn on cool water and grab the bar of Fels-Naptha Laundry Soap. I wash my jeans while wearing them. This is the emmes truth (I swear its true). I peel them off for some interior suds-ing, give a good rinse, then squeeze, spin cycle style. Next, my T-shirt. Suds on and scrub. Take it off, rinse, and scrunch. Undergarments follow – you get the idea. I am finally in my birthday suit (no need to picture that — this is not on of those stories). I tend to the lump of things already on the floor… then finally, I can clean me. Please know, this dramatically increases my hygienic routine. I used to sing in the shower, now I feel like Ma, from Little House on thePrairie. As I load the dryer with my freshly cleaned items, I give the evil eye to the washer. Feh! (expression of physical and emotional disgust).
Allegedly, the fix-it-people are coming tomorrow – between 8:54 am and 11:54 am who gives times like these? — emmes truth. I think I will do another load in the morning, again…
If you have nothing to lose, you can try everything. Aoyb ir hot gornisht tsu farlirn ir kenen prubirn alts.
So, how’s by you?
Laundry, shmaundry… A bei gezunt (As long as you’re healthy).
Detective Gatsby is on it, again. Readers of this space, you know very well, that something ‘a-fowl’ has been going on in our community. Long ago, the Great Gatsby uncovered many a capon caper, finding bones, breasts, thighs, and wings, scattered and strewn about on our daily constitutionals. Sometimes, with his mighty schnoz, he would locate bbq sauce or ketchup, even fries to accompany his hidden haul. If you are new here, please stay, have a little nosh (something to eat), enjoy yourself proceed with caution. The paltry poultry that has been uncovered is not for the faint of heart.
Courageous as all-get-out, secure in his forensic anthropology degree, and led by his hunger for justice and all things edible, even the most disgusting and vile things you can imagine while walking outdoors, G has been sinking his teeth happily habitually into brand new evidence. He now knows why all of the chicks want so desperately to cross the road nirvana and why the caged birds sing tweet.
Apparently, right in our own backyard, there has been a major unearthing of evidence. It is all beginning to make sense. The dirt is there yes, that is our mess of a yard from our four-legged boychick (little sweet boy). While uncovering the cadavers of said cockerels is his favorite pastime, G has realized the problem is bigger than (cooked) birds and their petty parts. While focussing primarily on pullet and cock-a-doodle-doo, even Gatsby realizes the real tsuris (trouble) in town is L-I-T-T-E-R.
Philadelphia, in many ways, is and has been ‘Philth-adelphia’. Clean, they are not. Untidiness is all too often a way of life by too many who have seemingly bypassed trash cans mothers and Kindergarten lessons, leaving a trail of drek (trash, detritus), Hansel and Gretl style, in their wake. Litter begets litter. Trash begets trash. What kind of shlemiel (loser) has the chutzpah (balls, nerve) to leave their crap for others?
So my Mrs. and me, we have taken to grabbing an extra bag full of bits and scraps as we saunter about our shtetl (‘hood, village)walking our boychik. With Little and Big in tow, we are furthering the valuable lessons of rubbish removal and how we can be grateful for and feel good about a clean neighborhood. Further research us bloggers thrive on this stuff reveals a movement in Sweden where we may be headed should the midterms turn to sh*te called Plogging. This Nordic influence is as amazing as IKEA and is beginning to take the world by storm (btw: IKEA just opened in India this week), spreading to the UK, Germany, France, Thailand and hopefully here in the US too.
Plogging: Scandinavian word meaning to pick up litter while jogging in groups, making is socially fun and fantastically praise-worthy. This word comes from the fusion of the Swedish words “plocka” (picking [up]), and “jocka” (jogging). See, more than just Yiddish here!
So, for a while now, as we are out an about, walking the boychik, picking up his poop, we also shlep (drag, haul) and bag the drek of others, in hopes of beautifying the community and raising the bar on the ‘dump and run attitude (addy-tude in Philly slang)’ of our brethren. Thank you, Sweden!
Whose with me? Let’s go plogging! Alevei! It should only happen!
In a good apple, you sometimes find a worm. In a shainem epel gefint men a mol a vorem.
Sandy beaches, sunshine, and just a bissel (a little) rain each day. Turtles, alligators, dolphins, fish, frogs, deer, baby gators, seagulls, ibis, lizards, and sandpipers. Spiders the size of my hand, definitely not for the weak hearted. Family, cousins, and even a baby! Five kinder (sweet children), four magnificent mommas, and ice cream beer, wine too! All, in our happy place, Bald Head Island, just off the coast of North Carolina. Together never felt so good!
“No matter what happens, travel gives you a story to tell.” Keyn enin vos khapanz, arumforn git ir a dertseylung.”
My Big, she talks about when she was in the ocean with baby C and his momma. The baby, he fell from the force of the wave riptide and was whisked up in the air, hanging by his hand his arm remarkably stayed in its socket lovingly held firmly in his mom’s grip. Baby C, clearly farshluggeneh (shaken, mixed up), then declared, “It is ag-gwa!”
My Little, she liked it when they all dressed up in the big blue bubbles and ran out on the golf course for pictures and videos. G, a kleineh kinder (small, little sweetie) clad in his blown-up blueberry, and almost lost inside its great girth big, he is not, literally rolled down the steps from the porch to the patio. He got up, blueberry suit as savior, fartootst (confused and bewildered), he looked at my Little and said, “That was so awesome!”
We heard from the Tanta’s (aunts)that ourLittle, she shared bragged, well she boasted, hell, she was kvelling (bursting with pride) her talent of being able to burp on command. She proved it, right then and there, too. The boys all broke into bursts of giggling. Me, and my Mrs., we were just grateful that she didn’t share the curse word she knows that rhymes with ‘truck.’ Oy vey iz mir. (Woe is me.) Our miniature komish (comic) in the making. Big, she read books to them all and tended to all of us the kinder like the mommelah (little mother) she is.
K, nearly 7, doesn’t understand why, if we have Baldhead, and we all can be there together, why is he now waking up in California? And us in Philadelphia? Smart, he is!
G, he told us stories about each animal, fish, insect, bird or reptile we encountered. Between books, school and the Kratt brothers (from the Wild Kratts TV show), this boychik (little boy) absorbs it all!
Baby C, he exudes cuteness. My Mrs., she has plans to kidnap him. But please, do not tell his mommas.
Now the Tanta’s, they are both shitterayn (able to cook delicious food without a recipe)no, I am not calling them bad things! I am complimenting them. Not a bad word at all! Each day, they would potchki (poke around) adding a little bit of this and a little bit of that in the kitchen. Gourmet snacks, meals, and picnics would appear before us, ready to be devoured. I did the laundry to make up for my lack of kitchen capabilities, however, please know that I am inspired!
Kvetching (Complaining): across the board. All five kinder had been varfing (throwing, as in throwing a tantrum) each and every time we slathered their skin with sunscreen. Enter curse word that rhymes with ‘truck’ here, now, as often as you like. Honestly, the geshries (screams) and moans that would come from these kinder, one might have thought we were coating them with alligator food and letting them out to stroll by the lake, alone! It was a painstakingly tough production for us all and anyone in earshot. And don’t you know, their gentle, smooth skin, like a babies tuchas (tushy, bum, butt), has been saved, despite the struggles.
Genug is genug! (Enough is enough!) You HAVE TO WEAR your sun shirt, your hat, your sunglasses, and we MUST re-apply sunscreen every 80 minutes!
“It’s time kids.” They got all broygis (pissed off, angry a real shit-fit).
We heard: “Putting sunscreen on is so boring. What if ___insert cousin name here_________ gets to the pool first? Why is it so thick we did apply it with a putty knife? You just put it on one minute ago! Yes, I did put it on my face already. You did that leg. The sun isn’t even out. Maybe we should only swim at night? Is there moonscreen too? Is it dry yet? Can I PLEASE go back in the pool now?” Imagine me explaining the depleted ozone layer, our dangerous proximity to the sun and its harmful effects to our derma, the largest organ in our entire bodies. Scott Pruitt, climate change…Oh, I went off.Oy!
My Mrs., she loved the shoals and tide pools over by Cape Fear yes, like in the movies. The small, waveless swimming holes were so much fun. It was calm and soothing sitting and swimming in nature-made pools, free from the pull of the full moon, fish swimming around our ankles. We all walked on the beach and collected shells. Big, she made drippy sand castles. Little and K stood atop boogie boards. G, he did too — even though he is slight enough to walk on water. I was bound and determined to find a sand dollar in its entirety – Bubkas (no such luck). Next time…
One of my most cherished times was biking with Big and K to the ice cream shop. The rain had stopped and we wanted to ride bikes. The others took the golf cart. We were rain free and riding through puddles on the way there. I led the way, K was to stay in the middle and on the right side of the path, Big, she rode caboose to help keep K in line. To K’s surprise, we beat the cart-full-o-family through Middle island and to the docks. To our surprise, he arrived in one piece. We all had the most delicious homemade ice cream beer when the clouds burst open. The amount of clean water pouring from the sky was stunning. The three of us rode back to the house, happily drenched in the deluge. We joked about needing soap and shampoo, and not needing any sunscreen. K, electrified by the sugar high, puddles and heavy rains, rode his bike as if he were drunk, swerving right and left. Just as our cart-full-o-family drove up, K pedaled himself straight into a tree on the side of the road. Remarkably, not a scratch on him. No head injury. No flesh wounds. (Knocking wood)
And I think we all enjoyed the pure, carefree, childlike fun and love as the kinder played, frolicked, fought (well they are real kids you know), laughed, and made collective memories. This was priceless.
And the photos and videos we all took made Nonna (Italian for Bubbe, which is Yiddish for grandmother) so happy. This trip to BHI was palpably different for us all because of our very tangible lack of Nonna and PopPop (grandfather, Zaideh). PopPop has, well, he has a farshlepteh krenk (literally, a chronic illness) and was recently moved to a nursing home, a much safer place for him and our Nonna. His decline has been so fast, like a lightning strike or the blink of an eye. His placement made it too soon for Nonna to make the trip. Everyone understood and felt her spirit there with us every moment of our days. We will continue to fill her heart with stories of the nachas (joys) we all experienced. These kinder will help to heal her heart and she does not need to apply sunscreen to take them in and ours too.
Today, I am relieved, ecstatic, joyful, delighted, and kvelling to learn that all 12 boys and their soccer coach are rescued, safe and sound. The collective global sigh of relief is holding me up and getting me through the rough parts of our world. There really are heroes in the world. We need to celebrate them!
Hold your kinderlach (children) closer today, and every day.
Troubles overcome are good to tell. Ibergekumene tsores iz gut tsu derseylin.
Technically, it is July 4th, Independence Day in the states, and I couldn’t be farther from feeling patriotic, proud of my country or the people who are running it. Truth is, our country scares the shit out of me daily frightens me in a way I have never before experienced.
Today, I welcome the day off with my family. I welcomed sleeping in a bit, relaxing. But I am not feeling very red, white or blue — well, blue only in the sense of a deepening sadness. Human dignity and freedoms are now being stolen daily. The immigrant crisis, where children are being separated from their parents and sent to ‘camps’ technically for purposes of law! WTF and the parallels to the atrocities of the Holocaust haunt me. Please, dear friends, we cannot have another global miscarriage of morals, ethics, and values. Please, hear the cries, feel the pain. Act. Scream. Shout at the top of your lungs.
I move forward only by seeing the cries of injustice rallied far and wide. I hold strong and hard in my belief that we, the greater we of like minds, fairness, civility, compassion, and empathy can right this veering ship.
We must hold on this holiday, more than all others, the belief that the people of our world can and will come together and change the confluence of attitudes and events that are swirling together like the perfect storm. We have to raise the bar on just about everything in the world on human rights. We all need to care.
Even in this world, one can taste the joy of paradise. Afilu in dem velt, eyner kenen tem di freyd fun ganeydn.
Today, was a mitzvah (nice thing, good deed) for our family. We went to my machatunim (in-laws) (no, they are not ‘those kind’ of in-laws — I am so fortunate) with kinder (children) and Gatsbyin tow. We always enter wearing our own coat of chaos and clamor. The maideleh’s (sweet girls) cross the threshold of the doorway, and they are starving like we never ever feed them kind of starving. They are so hungry, they are challish (faint). Nona, she is always ready for them to ess a bissel (eat a little something). She even has choices. Within moments, they inhale large slabs of thick tomato pie. Their cavernous bellies yearn for more. Next up, olives. Gorgeous gourmet kalamatas, and giant green greek beauties stuffed with gorgonzola cheese. Still, the hollows of their kishkas (intestines) cry out, “more please.” One may surmise we only feed them at Nona’s house… Bagels, cream cheese? How about some tuna and bean salad? Nona, a sincere balaboosteh (gourmet cook, cleaner, gardener, caregiver, efficient and loving too — Martha Stewart, she would be impressed, and would learn a few things from our Nona) she whips it all up in minutes. Chips? Who wants chips? Finally, the rumbling bellies begin to bloat. Success.
All the while, amidst the boisterous banter, the barking boy and the pure joy of seeing and feeding her bubbellah’s(grandchildren), Pop Pop, he sleeps soundly in the front room — a den recently turned bedroom. There’s been such tsuris (troubles, worries, grief) with his declining health of late. Our Nona, with a heart of pure gold, she deserves a little frailecheh (happiness).
So once the din of lunch was complete, and the starvation was temporarily sated, Nona, My Mrs., Little, and Big left for some much-needed, light and happy time together. I happily stayed behind, with Gatsby and Pop Pop. And hopefully Nona, she knew he was in good hands/paws with us, kaynahorah (with some good fortune). She can for a time, take her nurse’s hat off and put her sun hat on. Feel the warmth on her back and in her heart.
After about an hour and a half, he woke up. We chatted a little. I brought him his medicine (because Alexa, she told me he had must take it), his lunch (which of course Nona had already prepared) and some fresh water. I helped with the TV channels when his large fingers couldn’t navigate the proper buttons, and Alexa couldn’t make out his voice, now fainter than normal. I gave him a yummy chocolate chip cookie. We watched some golf together, quietly. Talking, not so much.
A bit later, an explosion of noise was welcomed as they all poured through the front door. Smiles on happy faces. Squeals of love and hellos to their Pop Pop, now awake. Joy in their eyes. Joy in Nona’s eyes.
And you’ll never guess… The kinder, they were hungry, famished even. After a nice nosh (snack), we headed outside to play. Scooters, hula hoops, and fun.
I remember the time I first saw her. My heart raced a little and my palms, they were even a little sweaty (not a real schvitz (good sweat) this was well before hot flashes. I had no qualms at all. I knew she was right and true and good in oh-so-many ways. Then, I held her. We were meant to be — it was love. Who knew what was to happen over time. To me. To her. To us. It’s a shonda (a real shame), I tell you.
Drink? No. Drugs? No. Sex? No.
No! Please, don’t you worry about me and my Mrs.Kaynohora! (a great, albeit magical word, to ward off the evils of the world) We are just fine. Poo-poo! (more magic) I am talking about that ferkokteh (all effed up)iPhone! Smartphone. Choose your brand poison. That damned diminutive, divisive, device that is constantly causing digital dilemmas and drama, stealing life from right under us. I used to pee and walk the dog without a phone, well, obviously not at the same time.
My pocket-sized pal, she is always at the ready with a brain-strengthening game, a word with friends, a voyeuristic view into the curated world of my Insta-friends, an up-to-the-minute news flash (Vey iz mir (OMG), what has mr t done now…) of the world and it’s tsuris (troubles).
Have you seen this? The next time you are in a restaurant, a coffee shop, grabbing a nice nosh(little smattering of something to eat), look around. People are out, together, and looking only at their ‘phones.’ Tables full of people in self-imposed, solitary confinement. As I type the term ‘phones,’ I notice a smirk on my punim (face). This thing started as a phone. Who even talks anymore? Text, text, text, yadda, yadda, yadda… My car? It has become just an expensive accessory for my iPhone. Oy vey…
Well, so I did a little digging into this overwhelmingly addictive behavior. Turns out, ‘they’, yes the proverbial ‘they,’ designed this mighty machine with the intent to deliver a deluge of dopamine, so we continue to crave! Sound familiar, Marlboro Man? Dopamine, she is like a chemical messenger from your brain, bringing only rewards, joy and good feeling. Nachas in the form of a neurotransmitter. Kum-bah-yah everyone Often, we get a nice dopa-release from food, sex, giving gifts, falling in love, all things pleasurable — and unfortunately, from addictive behaviors like gambling and drugs… WTF Now, this 10-year-old technology, as old (or young) as my Big, has us all entranced and SIA (speaking in acronyms). Remember when you really did LO? And just screamed SHIT instead of a carefully chosen emoji! It was aerobic, cathartic, true.
Addicted? Here’s what to look out for, my friends. Sleep problems. That bedside blue essence and sheen, she is enticing and lures you in like the sirens of the sea… just like Carol Ann in the movie, Poltergeist, I warn you all, “Don’t go near the light!” I learned that heavy-duty smartphone users all of us have grapple with more depression and anxiety than ever before. Nu? Apparently, the more you hang with your digital dynamo, the more lonely and anxious you feel. The more lonely and anxious you feel… the more real life becomes socially awkward –The biggest hurdle? FOMO. FOMO is yet another acronym in our ever growing lexicon we have come to know and love: fear of missing out. We all worry about that. What?
I tell you today, and you read it here, I am putting her down. After what the hoodied-Zuck has done to us, we should all jump out of the new-found country that is FB and re-enter our present lives.
She does offer function. That I give her. I love that I have a camera wherever I go. I get to capture memories when I am present enough to make them. She keeps me safe. Driving alone, parking late at night, traveling for work, her mapping prowess, like prophecy… She lets me know where the kinder (kids)andthe Mrs. are, and I can even see their precious punims (beautiful faces) when we FaceTime. I remember the Jetson’s did this She offers open access to just about every piece of vital information I would need at my fingertips.
For the sake of my children, and the love of my life, iPhone, we are through. Finito. Kaput. Tsebrekhn. My mishpocheh (family, my peeps), I will now, try my absolute human best, to be forever or at least a real lot of the time present and mindful in our moments. And like all proper addictions, I must gain my strength with you still by my side.
It may not be easy. But hey, nothing in life ever really is…
A curse is not a telegram; it doesn’t arrive so fast. A klole iz nit keyn telegram; zi kumt nit on azoy gikh.
How about you? I’d love to know your thoughts on this telephonic topic. Leave me a note, or stop by, and we’ll nosh.
Hello dear people! I’m plotzing (dying, falling over) over here. Su, from ethannevelyn.com, she nominated me for The Sunshine Blogger Award! Over here in ‘these internets,’ this is like an Oscar and I feel like Frances McDormand or The Shape of Water well not so much that! Look at all that glitter!
Su, this one is for you, and it comes from the heart:
Thank you so much! A sheyer veyner danke!
Now, the point of this lovely award is to get to know a bissel (little) bit more about the bloggers, in this case, me. So, whatever Su asks me, I will tell you all! Without further ado, I bring you much ado about me! ❤
Q1. Your blog’s name – why have you given this name to your blog? What’s in a name, right? In reality, the name of my blog is, Are we there yet? I just could never get it (the real name) to show up! No joke. LisaPomerantzster did, and despite all efforts right this heinous, tragic albeit fatal design flaw, I hit publish, and whoosh, there she was. I figured it was okay since it is also my email, should you want to write me? There was already a LisaPomerantz on Gmail, so I added the ‘ster’ for pizazz. Nu?
Q2. When did you start blogging? My very first post was on 9/23/14. It would be almost a full year until I wrote anything at all again. How lame is that Now, any time I can steal away, usually around 4 am when all are sleeping, is blog time.
Q3. What prompted you to start a blog? It was and remains to be, way cheaper than going to therapy. Not that I still couldn’t benefit from a few sessions, mind you I could write about anything and everything, share my shtik (spiel, act) spill my shpilkes (state of agitation, nerves) and hear back from people who not only took the time to read my little space in the universe, they commented! Good, bad or indifferent, YOU spoke back to ME! I was amazed, intrigued, and have made many wonderful friends on this journey! And, it is yet to be determined if I am even a little bit less, meshuggeneh (cray-cray)!
Q4. Name one favorite blogger that you are a big fan of right now. Mackenzie Glanville, of Reflections from Me
Q5. Why is she/ he/ they are your favorite blogger at this moment in time? Mac, to quote her directly, ‘believes everyone deserves a beautiful life.’ Her posts are about mindfulness, balance, moments in time, chaotic or blissful, and they always seem to arrive at the exact moment in time that I need them. That’s a gift for me! She’s authentic, true and speaks her values. How can you not love that? M’wah!
Q6. Where one place on earth would you go if you received an invitation to go traveling without money bring the limit? & Why? Heck, if money is no object, I can walk down the street a little easier! The Mrs.and me, we talked about one day taking the girls to some of the great wonders in the US — like the Grand Canyon, or Bryce Canyon. I love the red rock! And, that would allow for our the answer to Q8 too! Spain has been calling my name. I feel it. Costa Rica would be sweet. Anywhere in Italy, again. I must say, we like to be anywhere with our extended families too! I am very lucky that we all enjoy each other and have amazing family on both sides — we love to be with them all, wherever that is, as long as we are together.
Q7. What is your one favorite cheer up food when you are feeling down in the dump? Ice cream. Chocolate chip mint ice cream. Coffee ice cream. Did I mention ice cream? Oh, and I do not need to be sad to eat ice cream. I’m one of those people who cannot eat when I am down in the dumps, nervous, anxious, or upset. Oy, it’s a wonder I eat at all! Actually, it drives the Mrs. crazy!
Q8. What’s your one favorite thing to do with your family? How can I limit this to one thing! My time with my mishpocheh (family) is priceless. All things together are good, even the really crappy, whiny, tantrummy times. But I guess, I like it best when we all go on a family hike, or even or some family activism, like the Women’s March!
Q9. What is your dream job when you were young? I wanted to be an illustrator, living it up in NYC. I gave it a good go and had to begin the process of reinventing myself around ~1998.
Q10. What is your dream job now? Supporting my family is what’s really important. That is the stuff my dreams are made of! Because it is no easy task. Ich macht a labent (I’m makin’ a living.)Balancing the line between working too much and living at all… My dream job now, it would allow me to make enough to not worry so much, control my own hours, be my own big macher (boss), so I can see the play at school, run to the dance rehearsals, and grab a romantic lunch or two no, not Chipotle with the Mrs. in between. The important things.
Q11. If you can to give back to the world – what would that one thing be? Empathy. Our world needs a lot of empathy, especially now.
Thank you again, Su, for this amazing award! Now for the rules:
Thank the person who nominated you for the Sunshine Award andlinkback to their blog while you are kvelling (filled with pride)
Answer the questions the person who nominated you provided
Nominate other bloggers and give them 11 questions brain posers
Notify your nominees via social media and/or blogger love, the comment section of their blog
List the ‘rules’ and proudly display the Sunshine Award logo in your post
Drumroll, please! Allow me to introduce you all to these fabulous bloggers, my nominees:
Mazel Tov (kudos)my fellow bloggers! Grab steal swipe your award winning image above once it has all sunk in, answer these 11 questions and pay it forward! Also, if you are not into this mishegas (craziness), that is a-okay! Just know that I really think you are all awesome!
Q1. Do you have a favorite thing, person, dare I say, ‘muse,’ to inspire your writing?
Q2. Why did you start your blog?
Q3. Who is your hero (alive or dead, or even animated) and why?
Q4. What drives you meshuggeneh (nuts)?
Q5. What were you like as a kid?
Q6. Where is your happy place?
Q7. When it comes to gifts, would you prefer to give or receive?
Q8. What’s your very favorite song?
Q9. How would you describe that song to someone who cannot hear?
Q10. What would your pet say about you, assuming of course, that you have a pet, and it can talk?
Vey iz mir. (OMG.)I am in the midst of what can only be a true epic mom-fail. I need your help. You see, I believe, no matter what you are doing, how big or how small the act, you must always set up the next person for success? Nu?Is this so hard?
Let me get to the point. No matter which bathroom, loo, water closet I enter, I am often always left high and dry. You know, you rush in for a tinkle, hope that maybe, just maybe, you can pass water in peace. Alone. The door won’t fly open with a concern, a to-do needing arbitration, a question like, “What are you doing, mommy?” Just trying to pee alone, just this once. And you reach across to the toilet paper holder, usually placed convenient to the action at hand, only to find…
Am I the only one capable, culpable, hell-bent hung up on hanging up a new roll of toilet paper when I reach the cardboard holder which is effing recyclable people? The other day, in the course of just a few hours (I have the bladder of a flea) I was left as dry as the Sierra Desert at high noon in all three technically 2.5 of our bathrooms.
Some facts for you: We are four women. Two moms, two shana maideleh’s (sweet little girls). That’s a lot of estrogens well, it used to be more… coursing through this home. No one leaves the seats up. No one can technically, er, um, drip dry (Gatsby, our man of the house, uses the outdoors mostly).
Not two weeks ago, I had that alone moment every parent craves and snuck into the kinder’s (kids) bathroom. I went, I turned, I reached… NO! I stayed seated. I took a deep breath. I called for my kinder. They came joyfully running. The entered without abandon. “Hi mommy, what’ryou doing?” I asked, “What is wrong with this picture, my kinder?”They both cocked their heads, like when I ask Gatsby if he wants to go in the car or have a treat.“What do you mean, Mommy?”
I pointed to the sad scrap of paper attached to the TP holder. I said, “Have you girls ever changed the toilet paper roll before? Let me show you how, so this can stop happening to Mommy? Nu?” Since I was, well, indisposed, I asked Little to reach for a new roll. She handed it to me with her playful, almost spritely smile. I said to them both, “Watch this.” I held the new, plush roll in my lap still seated on the throne as I lifted the cardboard insert and the metal bar that holds it in place. I showed them how to emancipate remove the empty roll and did a shtick (shpiel, speech) about recycling. Then I gently placed the lovely, fresh roll onto the metal bar and lowered it into place. Thus securing the new roll, with a clean top-over pull, ready for those in need me.
Still sitting atop said porcelain, I explained a bit about setting each other up for success in big ways, in small ways, in all ways. They nodded as if they understood. Giggling at my vulnerable state, I’m sure. Then, they scurried off to play. I completed my transaction and went about my day, thinking, “I made a difference today.”
… Later that same day, the commode conundrum reared its ugly head yet again. This time, upstairs, in the bathroom I share with my Mrs.(and kinder too) I didn’t even try to shut the door. I went, I reached, NO! Gatsby was curled on the mat near the shower. I looked at him and his tail wagged, making a lovely noise as it smacked the floor. He knew nothing of the tsuris (trouble) I was facing. I looked up, and across the room which felt a million miles away, atop the sink, sat a brand-new scroll. I laughed cried. I waited for eons. I stood and walked over like Elvis, with my pants around my ankles and seized my prize. Oy!
So my friends, If as a human being, living and sharing space on this precious planet we call home, you are looking to bring solace to your fellow dwellers, simply follow these easy steps.
You will need some basics.
1 new roll of (whatever ply suits your system) TP
A free hand put down the smartphone
Recycling bin (YES! It’s recyclable should not be sent to the landfill)
It’s simple really.
Remove empty roll.
Replace with new roll, paper coming over top.
Place empty roll in the recycling bin, or save for reuse as beautiful junk in a craft project with your kinder.
Beautiful. Now watch Helen Hunt do it… you won’t be sorry for these 25 seconds, I promise.
Anyone having these same issues? Do tell!
If the Student is successful, the teacher gets the praise. Az der talmid iz a voiler, iz der rebbi oich a voiler.
My Mrs., oh, she is a wise one; and can she spot a deal? A million years ago, or maybe it was just ten minutes, the kinder (children) were still in diapers (nappies for my friends across the pond). As crunchy, granola environmentalists, we would vehemently argue debate about the value of cloth nappies, vs. disposable. Hot water and detergent use vs. landfilling. And point for point I lost there was just no easy answer. Long story short, My Mrs., she purchased some swanky ‘n ‘spensive nappies for the tender tuchas’ (butt cheeks) of my Big and my Little. After paying what easily felt like a gazillion dollars for literally, shit holders these wonder cloths, she assured me they would pay for themselves and then some when she sells them. It’s a wonder I didn’t plotz (collapse) right then and there… Nu? Along the way, she had purchased a prized, rare, limited edition cloth poopie-holder print it was just Tye-dye, very Jerry Garciathat started a bidding war! Vey iz mir (OMG), she made some $350 on that one (1) golden cloth, shat in by my madeleh’s (sweet girls). She made hundreds more on the rest of the lot… she was right, I was wrong and people, they are simply meshuggeneh (crazy)!
Fast forward to today. Welcome to a world run by little plastic babies, no joke. LOL surprise. Have you heard of these? I’ve been working on the side on a startup that is in dire need of life support. How we didn’t think of these babies, oy, gives me a migraine… A perfect sphere. Wrapped tightly, securely in plastic. Unpeel each layer to surprise and delight everyone who watches. Crack open the orb, more plastic wrapped surprises don’t get me started on the environment again. Every layer unearths pure, childlike wonder. It’s nothing but nachas (pleasure, joy, gratification) in enough plastic to choke Flipper it’s own carrying case. Big sisters, little sisters, pets, and charms. These babies have more shoes and accessories than I do! And their own latte cup holders. They are absolutely positively adorable. For this, I gladly handed over $9.99 USD. Oif tsulaches (as luck would have it) they unlock hours of blissful play and imagination for my Big and my Little? Not to mention, they turn colors if you freeze them?
On to the meshuggeneh part… Mrs., so enthralled by our new family additions, so interested, she gets pinterested… Turns out, there is a market of collectors scouring the globe in search of rare LOL babies. Little, she is in custody of one LOL Kitty Queen, a truly magnificent species. Marked ‘Ultra Rare,’ she holds the beauty and grandeur of the Grand Canyon, only smaller and more portable. Silver, sparkly hair, pink kitty ear headband Accident? I think not, pink latte to-go cup, pink high boots, and the biggest, sweetest eyes on her coffee colored creamy skin. A lichtikheh punim (beaming, happy face) for all who see her. Turns out our Kitty, she is retired. I’m working my tuchasoff, trying to eke out a living, and Miss Kitty, she’s retired? Nu?
The Mrs., she tells me, Miss Kitty could bring in about $175 buckeroo’s! WHAT?Meshuggeneh? We tell Little, Miss Kitty is worth a lot of money. If we sell her, she can get two new ones. But first, we must find her missing pink boot she apparently has no value without her footwear. True story. In a plot-line like Cinderella, Miss Kitty Queen is shy one boot. Mittendrinnen (in the middle of) we are packing and moving, and all of us, we are looking for a boot, 3/8″ of an inch tall. I fear the worst. I look at Gatsby, and he looks away, showing me his very guilty, yet handsome look. No, it cannot be. We pack, we move, we sort of begin to unpack. Now a few weeks go by. The girls, they are playing downstairs when Little, she lets out a geshrei (yell), “I found her other boot, Ema!”
Mrs., she snaps a pic, uploads, and in minutes, $140. Meshuggeneh? That is life in these United States….
If luck plays along, cleverness succeeds. Az di hatslocheh shpilt, gilt ersht chochmeh.
Please know my friends, no LOL dolls were hurt during this post, nor provided to me for my glowing review. They are just loved and cherished by my girls. I give them a 10 out of 10! This is the most fun I have had since I was ages 3+. If I were a kid, my pockets would have been filled with the littlest ones, and I do see a pet on the list that resembles my Gatsby. Just sayin’.
Guess what… this a not a political rant or a thumbs down to the tsuris (troubles) our world is facing due to mrt kind of passive aggressive of me, eh?. This is a girls story. My Big, she is growing up. Born not ten minutes ago, yet my shana maideleh (sweet little girl) is soon to enter double digits. She is gaining wisdom, confidence, curiosity and her own personal identity, wrapped in a blanket of kindness and love. Oy, here I am kvelling (enthusiastically bursting with love and pride), again…
I should probably show a Georgia O’Keefe painting right about now because I am going there… Periods. Girls are getting them. There is chatter. We have chatted. And we are doing everything we can to keep it positive, normal and free of shame as we begin to prepare for this milestone gallstone kidney stone. She’s got two moms — this should be a walk in the park for us, right?
But I gotta say, she just learned to ride a bicycle. Am I ready for the menstrual cycle?
Which of course got me thinking about my own very strange, first-period experience. It was the Saturday of labor day weekend, 1976 and I was thirteen. We lived in south Florida and it was hotter than hell in a sauna on those particular September days. School had begun in August and I had welcomed the 3 days off. The Jerry Lewis Labor Day Telethon played on every TV in our house. I went to pee, and there it was – the small red blot. It was more of a dot than a blot. Definitely a dot. I was rattled I wanted to write, ‘mortified’ but you’ll soon see, my father’s name is Morty. Some of my friends had already gotten their periods, so I knew time was not on my side. I read Judy Blume’s, Are you there God, It’s me, Margaret, a few times by now. I just did not want it to happen. Gay avek (get lost, go away)!
So I very inconspicuously left that bathroom, and quietly went into my room with Buttons, our poodle, and my closest confidant. I closed the door and sat on the floor quickly putting my legs up on my bed. I went vertical, in what I now know was a yogic shoulder stand. I was upside down. Dammit, I was going to send this period back where it came from… Surely if I stayed this way, there was no way for the ‘flow’ of Aunt Flo to wind its way, well, down. Why had no one else tried this? I was brilliant! Buttons agreed.
Day 1: After the initial spatter, I was fine. Feeling positive that I had this entire situation well under control, laughing with Jerry Lewis. Buttons, she was just happy we were staying in the air conditioning. Day 2: Coasting. Not even Dexter could find any blood spatter. I stayed on the phone, watched the telethon, Buttons at my upside-down, side. Day 3:WTF What happened to physics? How could this happen to me? I was in a shoulder stand for three solid days! I was as invested in this endeavor as Jerry was in raising money. I had to do something. I had to call my mom… Ugh!
They were at the tennis club. This was all pre-smartphones. I picked up my princess phone and dialed the club. Max, who manned the front desk and was 90-years-old if he was a minute, answered the phone. He paged my mom. Yes, called her by name over the loudspeaker and told her she had a call. Kill me now, before she picks up. A bolt of lightning. Divine intervention. Thankfully her doubles match was over and I wasn’t too much of a burden. I told her I didn’t feel so good and could she please come home. That was all I said.
Instantly, she screamed across the entire restaurant, “Morty! Lisala got her period! Let’s go!” They came home, my father teased me incessantly and my mother handed me a futon-sized bedroll and called it a maxi pad. She said, “You know everything, right?” I mumbled, “of course I do” and slinked, head down, in shame, into the bathroom where this nightmare began. She added, “Be careful of the sheets at night, from behind the locked bathroom door.
Later, on that dreadful night, they took me out to dinner an alleged celebration at The Rascal House where they embarrassed me by telling everyone in line, the waitress, the guy who brought the pickles, the other guy who cleared the dishes, the cashier, that I just got my period. Wasn’t it bad enough that everyone could tell I had a mattress between my legs? I prayed for invisibility well before Harry Potter had the cloak.
Needless to say, things got way worse before they ever got better, and there will be more stories, to share, I am sure. And I never wore white pants again.
Last week, I was invited with my Big to go with her to Diana Circle. It’s like the happy, hippy, feminist version of Girl Scouts no judgment here, no cookies to sell either. They are an empowering, safe, and inclusive group that celebrates modern young girls as they experience their own, unique rites of passage. In a world filled with mixed messages, misogyny, double standards, a stunning amount of sexual harassment, and thankfully, oceans of #strongwomen in #pinkpussyhats marching the earth, I am so very grateful to Tara R. and her spiritual girl-guidance. She helps us to help our kinder (kids) embrace life, take the bullshit by the horns and grow up to be strong, healthy, and proud women.
At the previous gathering, one of the older girls got her first period and she was celebrated in a beautiful and moving way. The Mrs. and me, we are trying our very best to do right by our kinder. May they never be shamed for their bodies or their natural bodily functions. May they embrace the challenges of growing up as their uniquely beautiful selves free from adolescent misery and filled with love, connectedness, and honesty. A way I never knew was possible until a decade or so of therapy.
And friends, I leave you with this Yiddish Proverb:
No one knows whose shoe pinches except the person who walks in it. Keyner veys nit vemen der shuckh kvetsht, nor der vos geyt in im.
Nu? What’s your first-period story? Share with us and we all become a bissel (little) closer. Here’s to #mightygirls becoming #strongwomen!
Kvelling. It’s a verb. It means to be extraordinarily pleased or happy! We have our ups, we have our downs, but this week has been filled with a lot of, much appreciated, extraordinary happiness! I hope the same is true for all of you!
And the Yiddish proverb I leave you with this week is:
Love your neighbor, even if he plays the trombone! Libh deyn khbr, afilu aiob er fyeses di trambone.
Smile theory therapy. Yup, you read that right. Today, I am 6 months in, and still on task. I share with all of my fellow humans, my smile therapy cause, and update, in the hopes that the contagion of a smile, made by seeking eye contact and sharing with any and all individuals and groups I encounter, will elicit a return smile. May those strangers, knowingly or unknowingly, share that smile forward throughout their day. May this much-needed therapy for me, have a similar effect for those that carry on, unaware that they have been smiled upon… and may the smile spread across the world, like the butterfly effect.
Smile a bit in traffic at your fellow drivers if they can look up from their smartphones. Let that car edging out of a parking lot, get out in front of you, even though you may miss the green light. Hold open that door for those behind you. Wave and say hello across to the people walking across the street from you. Let’s act differently. Let us all smile a bit more and share some contagion that needs no doctor.
Six months ago, I made a conscious start while I walked with my Gatsby. Five out of five complete strangers smiled back at me and wished me a fine morning. As total unknowns, we schmoozed (talked) about the beautiful day ahead, the cuteness of my pup, the way the sun felt so nice on our backs.
The butterfly effect is the concept that small causes can have large effects.
And remember, just when that caterpillar thought the whole world was over, what did she become? A butterfly. A meshuggeneh (crazy) flight pattern, some lovely flowers to flutter by, freedom, and a touch of sunshine on her wings.
The bitterest misfortune can be covered up with a smile. Dem bitersten mazel ken men farshtellen mil a schmaichel.
I gotta happily report back to you, 9 times out of 10 okay, some days, it is 7 out of 10, most people smiled right back at me. Me! They didn’t know me from Adam who the f*ck is Adam anyway. But when we locked eyes, and I let out my inner Mona Lisa, bam! Like a ray of light that shines through your window and warms your soul, these beautiful perfect strangers lobbed back some pearly whites right at me. Priceless!
My hope is that this therapy will reach you, wherever you may be residing. And may the effect linger, lovingly and empathetically, to all in its spell. We all may be able to heal this shit show of a vulnerable, unhappy world after all. So, can you try this too? Too much is going on. As people, we need to heal. Are you in with me? Let me know how your smile therapy goes. Please. It can’t hurt. Nu?
Tonight is the eve of the 1 year weirdest year in my lifetime anniversary of the Women’s March, where pink pussy hats bopped atop millions way more than those who attended the inauguration of marching women (men and children too), across the US and in countries around the globe. We gathered in protest of violence and sexual harassment, for reproductive rights, gender equality, and quite frankly, against our new president (little p) and his band of bad men. We were and continue to be, a viable, visible force of peaceful people saying wtf just happenedlooking for answers and questioning truths. One dizzying, nauseating year later, what’s changed? We went from strong women proudly marching to women governing and legislating. We ran for office and we are winning! This weekend, get your walking shoes on. “Cause we still have some work to do my friends.
Nu? This mr t, he has me farklempt (all choked up) with his evil and hatred. Not too long ago, I wrote a post, I AM WOMAN HEAR MY VOICE. Well, I’ve taken it to the stage folks. Please, bear with my (awful)voice as I stumble through my own, personal feminist anthem.
Please feel free to sing along. If only to cover up my voice!Vey iz mir…I’m meshuggeneh (crazy), but I am so motivated to peacefully make a change. (I said peacefully, not notefully!) Because Never Again, is now folks.
Great big hugs and love to Mackenzie for her gorgeous participation and support! And Kristin, where would I be without the bug you put in my ear? And to all of you brave, men, women and children who showed up, and continue to show up in protest. That’s what I’m sayin.’
Why’d I do it? Well, I am trying hard to teach my kinder (little kids) to be brave, not perfect.
Hey, mr t, I Am Woman, and you, little man, are going to have to deal with that! Tell me, did you march? If so, where? And most important, everyone VOTE.
A severe winter storm, defined as a ‘bomb cyclone,’ is hitting the eastern United States with the tenacity and chutzpah (balls, or nerve, for lack of a better term) of mr t’s thumbs in a tweetstorm with lil’ kim. Be warned, the ‘bomb cyclone’ is not fake news. Caused by a portentous plummet in (air) pressure proportionately parallel to mr t’s popularity, millions are now bracing for snow, ice, bone-chilling winds, and record-breaking low temperatures. This is not your momma’s Nor’easter.
The folks residing at the Manors are particularly preparing for calamitous cold conditions. “Last weekend, we saw 2-3 inches of snow in the bedroom alone,” said one resident, declining to be named. He went on to state, “We rescue one or two people a season in the hallways and on the steps, which typify tundra-like temps through March, as a rule.”
Apparently, a jet stream of cold air naturally penetrates the recently remodeled residences. Winter storms gravitate from the upper reaches of the atmosphere to the lower levels of the living quarters. It’s spectacular to observe.
“Perhaps record-breaking is the new normal,” said a young med student, who refers to her apartment as the ‘igloo on 2.’ “No need to worry about the small refrigerators. You can preserve perishables and slides from the lab, just about anywhere there’s a window! You don’t get that everywhere, you know?”
Another resident looks at the positive side of life, saying, “With this level of cold, we need less coffee to stay awake! The early morning wind gusts in the bedrooms have the kids flying out of bed to get dressed and ready for school where it is at least safe and warm each day. Tooth brushing is never as welcomed as it is in the austere conditions of winter.”
One couple quoted said, “We are thankful for the balmy bathrooms as a respite from the bleak bombogenesis that comes naturally with each unit. Most often, we sup in there to prevent our food from freezing up. A nice tablecloth can really dress up the closed lid on the loo. Candles add heat romance and help us to keep the magic of our relationship alive!”
Young kids enjoy the ski-lodge conditions, making extra money shoveling snow indoors. “We charge just a fiver for each apartment. We can really cash in with a storm like Grayson headed our way,” said one teen leading a group meeting of the cleanup crew. “I mean, the apartment folks, they shovel the walk-ups outside and stuff, but no one comes indoors like we do! We’ll have college costs and the new iPhone covered after ‘Gray.'”
Mrs. Rosenblatt, in R4, says, “My bursitis, oy, she will be acting up again with a pressure drop like this. At least I know I won’t have to ice my shoulders. I just put my rocker near the window as I knit and I will be frozeny-fine in no time flat. Who needs 20 minutes on, 20 minutes off. It’s too much to think about. My doc can’t believe how lucky I am!”
Climatologists and rheumatologists alike have begun ascending on the apartments at the Manors, delving deep into the unusual weather pattern methodology and pain treatment analysis. “Rapidly warming oceans cheap as shit insulation and wearied windows are definitely having their way with the people populating this uniquely beautiful Tudor,” said one scientist from the Council on Oceanographic Laboratory Discoveries (COLD).
Climate scientists fervently favor this life-saving acronym when prepping for an arctic anomaly like Grayson: COLD: Clean clothes, Overheating, Layering of clothing and Dry clothing. Mrs. Rosenblatt further states, “On most days you can run into any neighbor schpatziring in our gotkes (running around in our long johns). I recommend this place to all my menopausal friends. A nice hot flash is easily abated with this chill.”
Mr. Rosenblatt says, “For this, we pay rent? Oy vey.”
One family yeah, it’s us is gleefully leaving for warmer climes very soon.
A fool doesn’t age and cold water doesn’t spoil. A nar vert nit elter un kalteh vasser vert nit kalyeh.
To say my kinder (kids) like to nosh (snack) is like saying the Pope, he is Catholic. Who doesn’t like a nice nosh (little something to eat….).My Little, she will even quote ‘Winnie the Pooh,’ and ask, “Can I just have a little smattering of something.” Now, no Jewish momma even this atheist Jewish momma is going to want to hear the geshrei (cry, moan scream) of hunger from their babes. Essen, bubbelah (Eat Sweetheart). It’s what we grew up hearing. You’re tired? Eat. You’re sad? Eat. You’re angry? Eat. You’re __________ (insert any feeling, emotion, TV show, a brand of car, celebrity, a sign of the zodiac, etc. and the answer in a Jewish home is always, EAT!) Eat. Stuff those emotions down your throat with a nice shmear (a robust portion of cream cheese) andlox (smoked salmon)on a bagel. Mind you, before dinner, Little, she had a nice plate of lox.
Noshers and fressers(those you can eat freely and copiously, no reserve!). That is what happens on movie night in our apartment. And last night, was no different. Vey iz mir (OMG), it’s a non-stop fridge free-for-all, where they stare like a deer in the headlights with the refrigerator door wide open — as if a spell has been cast upon them. Let me share with you a bissel of the essen (little of the eating) that transpired.
First, a nice meal. All of us sitting down together almost civil. Gatsby, he is circling, waiting for the crumbs to fall. We had a healthy, organic, vegan meal of Nona’s homemade lentil soup, bean burrito’s, roasted cauliflower, carrots, hummus — a nice spread albeit a little windy for all. We decide to rent Cinderella, the new-ish one. Dim the lights, roll the show, and…
I’m hungry (in unison)! Can I have something to eat?
Mind you, we barely finished the dishes. And so, being Saturday night and all, we live big! The girls, they each have an ice cream sandwich (the very best of sandwiches in my book). Cue the film. Take 2!
I’m hungry (in unison)! Can I have something to eat?
Something healthy, I cry…
My little, she brings the bowl of carrots over to the sofa and they crunch, munch and chew. Once the bowl was empty:
I’m hungry (in unison)! Can I have something to eat? Can we have another Ice Cream sandwich?
Can you make these bisquits?
No sweetheart. I’m not going to potchke (to fuss, and/or cook) in the kitchen now, after already making a nice dinner. Are you f**king kidding me?
Can I have that cake from Thanksgiving?
Not bloody likely!How about a squeezy-yogurt, honey? Breathe they’re just kids and they are growing
The squeezy-yogurts are from the freezer, so this should buy us at least ten minutes of movie time. Tick-Tock. Tick-Tock.
My Little, she then shouts, “Can I have a pickle?”
Bigchimes in, “Me too?”
I gotta let you know, they killed that entire jar of pickles. Gone. Gornisht. Bubkas left.
Little, she is still whimpering and is about to ask Alexa for the phone number to the department of childhood injustices, when she opts for a bowl of roasted cauliflower. I warn her that her belly is going to really start to make tsuris (trouble) for her and us. This is just too much. And this combination, oy, her kishkas (intestines) will be in an uproar. Now, you must remember, She’s got pipes. One bowl of cauliflower. Two bowls of cauliflower. At least this is some healthy sh*t she is eating!
Big, she starts stirring are they even watching the movie? and opens some almond butter granola bars before anyone notices. So of course, Little,she now wants some jalapeno blue corn chips.
ENOUGH! THE KITCHEN IS CLOSED! Itisafter10pmatnightandyouhavenotstoppednishingWearegoingtowatchtheendofthismoviebrushandflossourteethandgotobedTherewillbenocryingoutformorefoodYouareeatingoutofboredomorhabitormaybeagiantmomfailonmypartDoyouevenknowwhatishappeninginthismovieNexttimewewatchamovieitisonesnackOnesnackandthatisitOneDoweallunderstandJesusChristYesAtheistJewssaythistoo
And then, not ten minutes later, in bed, our Little, she says: MommyEma (an endearing term for us both), my belly hurts. No smoking gun here…
My littles and me, we went to the LEGOLAND Discovery Center. We are fortunate, it is only about 15 minutes away, and it opened this past summer. My Mrs., she has been taking the shana maidelehs (sweet girls) time and time again. She was off on a photo shoot, so I had some time all to my kinder (kids). The air, it was a bit nippy, so they wanted to stay inside. Truth be told, I was hesitant. I mean, I love LEGO’s as much as the next momma except when I step on them barefooted and scream like a meshuggeneh (crazy person) but to make a whole land of them? I had my doubts. I made sure to keep my shoes on, no matter what the policy!
To say my Littles love coming here is an understatement. They chattered excitedly the whole car ride over about the pirate ship, the ninja training, and about how they were going to be my guides and show me absolutely everything. I was feeling excited through their passion and a bissel(a little bit) of osmosis.
We have annual passes for 3 of us I am mostly always at work during such fun, and despite being a Star Wars special weekend, we got in rather quickly. It was lively and crowded inside. Despite the parties of people, it felt like a safe place to be playing.
I couldn’t take photos during the Imagination Express ride in our red car — I was having too much fun taking part in the giant laser game we drove through to get inside. We all had a magic wand equipped with a red laser to score points at every twist and turn of our giant LEGO car adventure.
Once inside, the colors, the shapes, the LEGO sets and play stations for all levels… eye candy in every direction. My Big, she met up with life-sized LEGO friend, Andrea, while my Little, she hung tight with Emma. I could tell we were in for an afternoon of colorful, creative play — exactly what we all needed!
The vibe inside was festive, albeit magical. The girls, they ran over to the big LEGO pirate ship of Pirate Adventure Island. Momma got to sit down and watch had to stay back, and no joke, I was happy. You have to take your shoes off to enter the Pirate Adventure Island. Short of passing a kidney stone or a festering flesh wound, nothing, I mean bubkas hurts like stepping on a random lego brick in bare feet….
The girls, they ran, jumped, slid, screamed, squealed, climbed, scurried, hoisted, heaved and hurried themselves up, down, and all over that ship. About 45 minutes later, they were tuckered out, damp, and ready for our next juncture.
So we made our way to the LEGOLAND version of Philadelphia! They built this city… They built this city out of on rock -n-roll LEGO’s. Miniland is AMAZING! Literally, the entire City of Brotherly Love was scaled down, brick by LEGO brick.
While searching for Yoda and the Star Wars Ninja’s for the scavenger hunt, hidden amongst our town, we saw the Art Museum and the famous Rocky steps. We strolled over to City Hall, and I thought about setting up a LEGO soapbox but held back. We were playing! And I ranted fairly well enough yesterday…
We went to LOVE Park and saw Robert Indiana’s famed statue, and even made out Claus Oldenberg’s, Giant Clothespin on Market Street.
The lights dimmed, and our city center skyline filled the night. Behind us, on boathouse row (not pictured) fireworks erupted like the fourth of July! It was nothing less than stunning!
After our walkable Philly adventure, it was time to relax a bit. We headed to the 4D movie theatre. There were four shows playing and we walked into one of them timed oh, so right.
I was mesmerized!
The movie was 12 minutes of pure fun and adventure. After the film, we knew it was time for some serious LEGO ninja training. We stretched and headed over to the Ninjago Training Camp. All three of us excelled, with the sharpest of moves, skills, and mind. Who knew we were such talented Ninjas in the making? I’d show you, but then, well, you know…
My Little and Big, they are strong, proud ninja’s through and through. I will not bat an eye if they are asked to be in the next LEGO Batman movie… We all wished we had cupholder hands rather than opposable thumbs, and left with great memories of fun times in LEGOLAND.
When you look to the heights, hold on to your hat. Ven ir kuk tsu di keyts, haltn aoyf deyn hut.
This post is a totally unsolicited and true review. We paid our own way, and will gladly do it again. We love it here and since we don’t have cupholder hands, we give it a hefty 5-star, thumbs up review! Have you been a LEGOLAND Discovery Center?
Today’s post has been literally hijacked by yet another deadly mass shooting, here in the good ole U.S. of A. I was going to write a lovely piece about our trip to LEGO Land with my kinder (children), and fill you in on how Nutcracker practice is going — but that will come at another time. I am seething and crying all at once — and I refuse to go numb. We need action. Notorious RBG would demand it, and so would Edie Windsor!
Congress, you are inept I am beyond mad and I have had enough. The chain of green is a stranglehold that must end. Held by the very prosperous purse strings of the National Rifle Association (NRA), you now have lined your pockets, profits, and proceeds with payola: and it is nothing less than blood money. Your ‘trump card’ use of the Constitution and our ‘right to bear arms’ has shifted quite precariously from guns for a trained and able military to guns for killing the sport, crime, suicide, and the obstruction of passing laws to protect us, the people, from fair and just gun legislation.
THIS MUST STOP
Guess what? Prayers, thoughts, and joining of hands in unity don’t do jack-sh*t do not work. The deadly mass shooting in at the First Baptist Church of Sutherland Springs was the worst deadly gun massacre since the last one, in Las Vegas, just a few short weeks ago. In fact, take a look at what is now becoming the shameful and violent legacy of American gun culture:
Sutherland Springs, Texas: 26 killed November 2017
Las Vegas Nevada: 59 killed October 2017
San Francisco, California: 3 killed June 2017
Orlando, Florida: 5 killed June 2017
Ft. Lauderdale, Florida: 5 killed January 2017
Burlington, Washington: 5 killed September 2016
Orlando, Florida: 49 killed June 2016
San Bernardino, California: 14 killed December 2015
Colorado Springs, Colorado: 3 killed November 2015
Roseburg, Oregon: 9 killed October 2015
Chattanooga, Tennessee: 5 killed July 2015
Charleston, South Carolina: 9 killed June 2015
Isla Vista, California: 6 killed May 2014
Ft. Hood, Texas: 3 killed April 2014
Washington, DC: 12 killed September 2013
Santa Monica, California: 5 Killed June 2013
Newtown, Connecticut: 27 killed December 2012
Brookfield, Wisconsin: 3 killed October 2012
Minneapolis, Minnesota: 6 killed September 2012
Oak Creek, Wisconsin: 6 killed August 2012
Aurora, Colorado: 12 killed July 2012
Oakland, California: 7 killed April 2012
Seal Beach, California: 8 killed October 2011
Tucson, Arizona: 6 killed January 2011
Manchester, Connecticut: 8 killed August 2010
Huntsville, Alabama: 3 killed February 2010
Ft. Hood, Texas: 13 killed November 2009
Binghamton, NY: 13 killed April 2009
Dekalb, Illinois: 5 killed February 2008
Omaha, Nebraska: December 2007
Blacksburg, Virginia: 32 killed April 2007
Salt Lake City, Utah: 5 killed February 2007
Nickel Mines, Pennsylvania: 5 killed October 2006
Goleta, California: 6 killed January 2006
Red Lake Indian Reservation, Minnesota: 9 killed March 2005
Wakefield, Massachusetts: 7 killed December 2000
Honolulu, Hawaii: 7 killed November 1999
Fort Worth, Texas: 7 killed September 1999
Atlanta, GA: 9 killed July 1999
Columbine, Colorado: 13 killed April 1999
Did you know that after every one of this horrible massacres, gun sales go up?
It is most definitely a GUN ISSUE
mr t said, “a very deranged individual” hello pot, meet kettle did this. He went on to say, this shooting “is not a guns situation” and that “it is a little too soon” to be talking about gun violence. TOO SOON!
Another lone, white gunman took his own life after killing and injuring droves of innocent people. He walked into a church, dressed in black and armed with a Ruger AR-556 semi-automatic assault rifle. He sprayed the crowd as they prayed, with bullets. His background included violence and domestic abuse, a dishonorable military discharge. He should have never had that gun in his hands.
We need to expand background checks for every gun purchase. We need to talk about mental health while stripping us all from the Affordable Care Act and we need to put away the party rhetoric and start saving innocent lives. We must condemn the violence that happens all too often. Oh, and btw, two-thirds of all the gun deaths in the US are suicide. Yes, suicide.
We must remind Congress, that they work for us.
Congress, We the people, we need you. We need to stop the NRA, who is currently spending ridiculous sums of money, lobbying, on a new bill to make mass shootings even easier. You see, the NRA, they are worried about our hearing. WHATTHEFCK There is a new legislative plan they are forcing down our throats, and it is called, get this, the SHARE ACT (Sportsman Heritage and Recreational Enhancement Act, H.R. 3668) Bundled in this bollux of bullsht is the Hearing Protection Act. What’s that? I can’t hear you. I just came from the shooting range. To protect your ears from the sound of bullets killing, felons, domestic abusers, criminals, gangs, and anyone else, can get silencers. Imagine Las Vegas, Sutherland County, or any of these acts of horror if, in addition to magazines and semi-, or automatic rifles, they had no sound. None.
Please, do what you can to turn this awful tide of violence and terror and move it in the other direction. Today, go out and VOTE. Here are two trusted organizations that are trying to help, and I have joined.
It must be wizards… but what is a Yiddisheh muggle like me to know? Every October, Harry Potter and friends land in Chestnut Hill, a stone’s throw from us, where the whole town is magically transformed into Hogwarts. Even the local train station!
Butter Beer, Diagon Alley, Sorting Hat stations, Bertie Bott’s every flavor beans that taste like vomit, grass, and boogers… Quidditch anyone?
“There are all kinds of courage,” said Dumbledore, smiling. “It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends.”
It was a day filled with wise wizards, witches and witty bits of Potter wherever you looked! What’s not to love?
Tell me a story about a young girl, born in 1933 during the height of the depression, growing up facing antisemitism, blatant sexism, and inequality, and I’ll know you are talking about Ruth Bader Ginsburg, my hero. Oh, Ruth, you are one powerful Yiddisheh momma that dares to live every day #livingfearlesslyauthentic. Let me tell you about her.
Nothing ever did or will stop her. If she disagreed, you knew about it. If she ever wanted something to change, she stood up and fought for it — and that is still true today. She lives and breathes strength, integrity, and elegance. She stands up for equality when others don’t even recognize the discrimination. She is a graceful heavyweight, a leader among all leaders, and at five feet tall, 84 years old, she heads up the liberal wing of the Supremes. She makes me proud to be a woman, a Jew, a feminist, an activist, a mom, and a human being.
Fight for the things that you care about. But do it in a way that will lead others to join you.
— Ruth Bader Ginsburg, Supreme Court Justice
Joan Ruth Bader was born to Jewish immigrants and grew up in Brooklyn, NY. Her sister died when she was just a toddler. Her mother, Celia, always stressed the importance of education (Celia was a very good student, graduating High School at 15, yet her family chose to send her brother to college. It was a time when sons were valued and daughters were meant to find husbands.). As a mom, she wanted more for her daughter. What momma doesn’t? Celia noticed that many girls in her class were named Joan, so to quickly avoid any tsuris (trouble), she asked her teachers to call her Ruth. She brought her to the public library often, where Ruth consumed Nancy Drew books, realizing that Nancy was a young girl in charge, who thought for herself (perhaps we add this series of books to our collective daughters’ gift lists?Nu?) both in her mystery solving and in her relationships. Ruth’s dream of becoming a lawyer was underway and early signs of Notorious R.B.G had begun.
Ruth was an excellent student (she listened to her momma, like a glikt shana maideleh (good girl)). Sadly, her mom died the day before her high school graduation
She went on to attend Cornell University, where she studied in the bathroom stalls, hiding from parties and social activities — she graduated as the top-ranking female student in her class
At Cornell, she met Marty Ginsburg, whom she would later marry. Ruth was demoted from her job for being pregnant. Marty and Ruth gave birth to a bouncing baby girl. Everyone said she belonged in the kitchen, and at home with her daughter. Marty and Ruth knew better.
Marty ( a successful tax attorney in his own right) was supportive, unlike many men of their generation. He understood Ruth was no balaboosta (organized and efficient home-maker). He handled all of the traditional ‘mommy’ roles. Middle-of-the-night feedings, cooking, cleaning, baking, and tending to the kids… he was proud to do these things so that Ruth can later become the Notorious R.B.G. that we know and love.
She attended Harvard Law school and was often ridiculed by the dean for being a woman, taking up a man’s spot.
Marty took a job in NYC and Ruth transferred to Columbia University, where she graduated tied for top honors in her class.
She had a law degree and top honors, but being a woman, wife, mom, and a Jew made her dreams of becoming a lawyer very difficult. To say she became passionate about women’s rights and gender equality would be an understatement. After co-founding the Women’s Rights Project for the ACLU (American Civil Liberties Union), Ruth went on to fight six landmark cases on gender equality before the US Supreme court.
President Jimmy Carter appointed RBG to the US Court of Appeals for the District of Columbia. She served there for thirteen years. President Bill Clinton, looking to increase the diversity on the highest bench in the land, appointed her to the US Supreme Court. She joined the Supremes as only the second female Supreme Court Justice (Sandra Day O’Connor was the first). She refers to the former justice as her “big sister.”
RBG battled colon cancer in 1999. She fought off pancreatic cancer in 2009. In 2014, she had a stent placed in her right coronary artery after feeling uncomfortable while working out with her personal trainer. Yes, she can probably kick a*s and take names in any gym she enters.
As for the name, Notorious R.B.G., that comes for her feisty and fiery dissents. A meme virally toured the social media realm, comparing her rap star Notorious B.I.G.
On retirement, at 84, she is a self-proclaimed flaming feminist litigator and is showing no signs of losing her efficacy or her memory. Take a look at this recent tweet from our own twit-in-chief, and you know she still is a powerful force.
Ruth, I admire you and hold you in the very highest regard. You influence my life and my decisions, and I know this world is a better place because of you. Thank you for all you do.
What a gutte neshumah, she is. What a good person with a big heart, she is.
This is one tough world we live in… but who am I to tell you that? I wake up each morning and cautiously look at my smartphone, one eye opens at a time, and already, I get discouraged.
Stuff yourself with hope and you can go crazy. Fun loiter hofenung ver ich noch meshuggah.
Grateful? Mindful? Of course! Every day I remind myself of the good. And yet still, there is so much bad in the news, in the world, in our lives, in the lives of our friends. So what to do? I must find the laughter. Share the laughter, and add to the contagion in the chaos of the smile theory.
Laughter is heard farther than weeping. A gelechter hert men veiter vi a gevain.
So here’s a little story to share:
Right before school started, the Mrs. and me, we needed to get the kinder (kids) leggings and jeans. We went to Old Navy, you know, the cheap version of Gap? We found quite the sale, which better fits our frugal finances of $0 per month on frocks and finery. We found about 8 -10 pair, a shirt or two, and we were only lighter by $30-some dollars (That’s a -$30-some on the master budget spreadsheet). Not bad. Don’t you know, when we got home, the first pair my Big wants to wear has a dime sized hole mittendrinnen (smack dab in the middle of) her tuchas (tushy, butt, derriere)? I dry the tears and promise to sew this slit and salvage the day. After all, I am of the age that literally had to take Home Economics in school (feminism, oy vey). What part of baking brownies and crocheting toilet paper roll covers made that class economics? Oy, a whole other blog post right there. Needless to say, I made a promise.
A needle and thread were tough to find in our little flat, so two weeks later, I finally remember to make a trip to the local pharmacy. For $4.95, I buy a small kit to fix the leggings that were $1.99. Little, not caring a bit about the rip on the rump, had already worn them to school. Big, she has been hock mier chinik (banging on my tea kettle, yammering on and on) for me to make the fix.
It doesn’t cost anything to promise and to love. Tsuzogen un lib hoben kost nit kain gelt.
This morning, it was the first thing I set out to do. These pants, shmata (rags) no more! I make a nice hot coffee and place the new sewing kit, and the lacerated leggings all in arms reach. Gatsby, he is securely settled in my lap in support. Children nestled all snug in their beds our bed. I begin.
Threading a needle is a tad bit more difficult than I recall. Glasses on. Glasses off. Like Karate Kid, I repeat this mantra. At 654 months old, home ec or not, it took me over 25 minutes to put the blue f***ing thread through the teeny, tiny needle. Less than three minutes of sewing said slit, and I’m done. My Big, she is still sleeping. I almost want to wake her to see the joy on her shanah punim (beautiful, radiant face). I know she will wear them immediately.
I get up and proudly look in the mirror who the h*ll is that wrinkly old lady with gray hair?(Glasses on. Glasses off) as I brush my coffee tinted breath. I laugh. Maybe this gray coif is the silver lining of optimism I need.
I hope you all laugh today, and continue to find the laughter. We need it.