Finding the laughter

You can always count on Little to make Big burst into laughter!

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.

Smiles and laughter, contagious!

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.

Silliness spreads the joy!

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.

      

      

      

     

 

Busy, Shmizzy: Eat Together for a Better World

Folks, it’s time for a post update. We still fearlessly, tirelessly, endlessly march on, supping together in hopes of a higher purpose. Manners are hard to come by here at the Manor. This week I see that mac-n-cheese is still perceived and approached as finger food. Opposable thumbs do not impress our small humans. The Mrs., and me, our voices continue to make no sound at all to our giggly little, pierced ears who nosh (eat a little) during this very important nutritional act of derring-do. My glass, it stays half full yes, they spilled again, but I am using the metaphor now

and this is how we eat noodles
and this is how we eat noodles, in stereo with Cousin Max, at a restaurant no less, in public… Oy!

I’m always telling suggesting to the Mrs. about the importance of sitting down together to ess a bissel (eat a little). How we need to dine with the full mishpocheh (family). Studies by big machers (hot shots) like scholars and doctors all laud the big meal get together as the solution to practically all that plagues the planet (don’t get me started, oy vey iz mir).

Jointly sitting and supping brings benefits to the body, brain and overall ‘mini-mojo’ of our kinder (kids). A nice nosh (proper meal) together makes for little Epicureans that become ‘epi-curious’ eaters who will choose more fruits and veggies, and pick less fried foods and sugary beverages. If mealtime is conquered correctly, the consuming kinder (children) are less likely to kvell (be happy) over a ‘happy meal’ that is loaded with tasty toxins, added fats, oils and who the hell knows what other unsavory ingredients. They won’t hunger for the little tchotchkes (small, unnecessary plastic toys), that promote future gluttony and materialism. They will be less likely to become obese. That alone equals a healthier lifestyle with fewer illnesses. Kaynahorah (to ward off evils — like the big C, heart disease and stroke), all this magic with one familial sit down a day?

Wait! There’s more. Those same above-mentioned mavens add that clever conversation over a nice meal boosts vocabulary for our kinder (kids), which makes for stronger, happier readers. Nu? If you can survive manage regular family mealtimes as the kinder mature, higher test scores, better grades and overall academic performance are in your future.

Add an avocado to the meal, and you win top honors in Nobel nutrition.

Well, it is obvious that no maven of any sort has observed the goings on at our little corner of the dining room here at the Manor. The Mrs. and me, we do our best to offer nightly variations of healthy, overly expensive organic suppers while trying to stick to our frugalista rice and beans every night still ways. With you, I must be honest, dinners hock mier en chinikeh (drives me bat-shit crazy). Etiquette and decorum have left the building by this witching hour!

Things usually start smoothly. The girls, they clean up a bit and set the table when we beg, plead and bribe. They help bring out our food (beans and rice). We all sit, and the Mrs. and I, we ask open-ended questions like a job interview to try to get them to respond speak with us. They sit with their knees up, spread eagle (vey iz mir), and have clearly left their listening ears in the ‘OFF’ position. They seem to have their own form of communication that is specifically designed to exclude us. They use their fingers instead of utensils even for soup. In fact, just last night, I was prompted to wax eloquent on the beauty of our opposable thumbs and how they separate us from the animal kingdom in hopes they would just pick up a g-damned fork or a spoon and eat like humans.

Little, she has a tendency to lick random and incredibly disgusting things WTF. She gets up from the table an average of  267 times per meal. She may need more water, go use the bathroom, want something better to eat, have an undeniable urge to dance, jump on the trampoline, or simply incite an enormous giggle-fest with Big. And I won’t kid you when I say it, she ‘toots like a trumpeter’ at the table. My madelah (sweet little girl)!

Big, she started with the whole knees up posture. She may use a fork for a moment or two, then she will quickly resort to her more primal instincts and pick up everything with her fingers, especially condiments. She can tell a story or two during dinner, and get up to act it out, share via interpretive dance, or become totally taken in by the mishegas (craziness) of Little. This leaves the Mrs. and me sitting table-side for what must be days, weeks, months hours, getting all cobwebby, and stiff-jointed, waiting for her to finish the feast.

And mittendrinnen (in the middle of everything), Gatsby, will jump into any temporarily vacated seat, and make a quick and successful quest for any food sitting idle.

Gatsby, on the prowl
Gatsby, on the prowl

The shvesters (sisters) behavior has the Mrs. and me chugging the Apple Cider Vinegar (an excellent indigestion remedy) nightly, straight from the bottle. It’s a mitzvah (good deed) we don’t drink enough or at all!

Lo and behold, we will endure these rituals because we have put our trust in the big macher alrightniks (good people).

Charlotte, she will weave her nightly web around us. We make this sacrifice night after night with the promise that our girls will not engage in high-risk behaviors like smoking, drugs or sex ever, ever, ever. They won’t have depressed or suicidal thoughts. They will avoid bullies at school and online. They will be self-confident and self-loving and avoid eating disorders.

They will be strong, mighty girls who can lean in at any table. And they will have empathy and compassion, because each night, we do our best to make it through another make your own burrito bowl.

I wonder if there are any studies of what happens to us mom’s as we suffer go through this phase?

A bei gezunt (Live and be well).

 

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Auditions Today!

Nutcracker tryouts
Nutcracker try-outs

It’s September again; the stores, they started it first

Christmas, its here and now it’s time to rehearse

Find the nice tights, leotards; put buns in their hair

It’s Nutcracker tryouts — hurry, hurry, let’s prepare

 

Every Sunday from now, right up to those two special days

They’ll practice away in their sugarplum haze

We’ll leave other events early with a sigh or a pout

And arrive at the studio to grand jeté about

 

As the music is cranked our smiles quickly return

It’s Tchaikovsky we hear, so many new parts to be learned

The Littles and Bigs, they will dance with the Donetsk ballet

As they show the story of a girl, her gift and her dream in a magical way

 

My sweet little maidelahs making Yuletide traditions

Sharing steps with Ukrainian mavens, in Balanchine’s celebrated positions

A mouse and a cook for my Big this holiday season, My Little a polichinelle and a small doll

Two roles, two acts, and two costumes for each, making memories, having fun, above all

 

In theatre with stage sets that ‘wows’ every viewer, this Yiddisher momma, oy how I’ll kvell

Come one, come all, grab a seat and enjoy, such nachas can only make you feel well

The Holiday season is right smack dab on us; the emmes truth, we couldn’t be cheerier

Vas, like you have something better to do? Not when the Wissahicken Dance Academy is so superior!

 

A bei gezunt to all (You should all be healthy)!

 

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Wordless Wednesday: Play Children, Play!

Dedicated to beloved children's' book writer Anna Dewdney. Read a book to your kids today.
Dedicated to beloved children’s’ book writer, Anna Dewdney. Read a book to your kids today.
Shvesters
Shvesters
Look papa!
Look papa!
oh, I can do this!
Oh, Papa can do this!
Playing at tryouts
Playing at Nutcracker tryouts

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Spinach!

This vision of real life is brought to you by Big. No spinach was injured (or eaten) during this display. Big, oh how I love you my bubbelah (sweet girl)!

Spinach! I don't like spinach!
Spinach! I don’t like spinach!
It's not fair!
It’s not fair!

*Es nisht di khale far a moitse. Don’t eat the challah before you’ve made the blessing. (*McKay and Gabe, this is for you!)

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Swimming Upstream

always upstream, oy vey
Always upstream, oy vey iz mir

It’s been a fucking lifetime few weeks now of life as a salmon, swimming against the tide of bureaucratic bullshit on numerous life levels. Paperwork perdition. Righting wrongs, with only a small success to keep my spirit motivated. I fear losing some of my much called upon ‘glass half-full’ skills. I’ve been a salmon so long now, I cannot even appreciate a nice nosh (snack) of lox and bagels with a shmear…Oy vey iz mir.

  • IRS: the Mrs., and me, we filed our 2015 tax return in February of 2016. Twenty-one days is what the website said. I’ve always been an early filer. I pay what we owe and I look forward to our return. Never have we as a family been so in need of said gelt (money) from the return than this year. Please understand, as of this writing, it is now mid-September of 2016. That’s 21 days plus almost 7 months, and still going. Talk about red tape! I’ve spoken to my accountant more times than both he and I care for… Maybe he even blocked my number by now. I’ve gone many a day to irs.gov, clicked on ‘Find my refund’ (the fact that they have that as a button option, I’m just sayin’) and get the same message every time: Your tax return has not yet been processed. I called the IRS back in March of this year and found a live person, who was kind and apologetic. I let him know my story and he searched high and low, keeping me on the phone for almost 3 hours. He found out that my return was placed in some holding purgatory for those who have had experienced identity theft!

My heart pounded, “What, someone stole my identity and has my return?” “No, it was just a random pull”, he replied. “Let me see what I can do to get this processed for you”. I took his name and badge number and felt we were on our way. He said, “Call, and just ask for me by my badge number.”

That was March. Now, I dial the many IRS numbers I have amassed, and get 85+ different prompts, all of which I have tried, and none of which lead me to an actual live person. I fear for my badge-numbered friend. I go through the ‘find the status of my refund’ prompt, and nu, I get: Your tax return has not yet been processed. I called the phone number of the local IRS department, and I got a recording saying, ‘This phone number does not offer phone support.What the fuck! I even tried the phone number for the hearing impaired. After all, even the IRS would be nice to the hearing impaired, right? Not so much. When the machine picked up, it let out a blaring sound, like a ship at sea (warning poor schlemeils (fools) like me, mere salmon still going upstream) to move aside. My right ear, it still rings. And yes, dejectedly, I am still swimming.

photo by @willowandsage1 follow on instagram
photo by @willowandsage1 follow her on instagram (the Mrs.)
  • Botox: As many of you know, I get Botox injections (no, my face is like a google map!) to assist in chronic neck/head pain, cervical dystonia, etc. Due to the cost prohibitive nature of this treatment, Allergan, the company that makes the injections of botulism that relieve the pain to passable life levels, offers a subsidy for those who are green-gelt impaired. An incorrect diagnosis code has bolloxed my Botox, leaving my pain plan in a perpetual place of purgatory, like the above referenced tax return gelt (loot). I call, I write, I beg, and I remain without treatment. No one should know of such pain. If you want to click here or here, you can learn more about how wonderful Botox is for my chronic pain.
Getting un-towed, not so easy
Getting un-towed, not so easy
  • The Car Tow: So as not to be deemed a total whiner, let me tell you now, this one ends with a Mitzvah (in a win, a good deed)! My Mrs., she had a lovely day at the shore with friends right at the end of the summer. She left early to get there and got home late in the evening, making memories of fun and laughter with good friends, Little and Big. She arrived back at the Manor and there was not one parking space available. In fact people were parked sideways, on the grass, and in the fire lanes. Half asleep, I grumbled, “Leave the car in the stairway spot. There are no signs saying ‘no parking’ and you can move it in the morning.” She awoke to a car towed and the start of a fight with the 4th management company to take charge here at the Manor since our sojourn began. We talked to Katrina, the new manager. She could give two shits about us or our car. We begged for her to get the car released as she did for two other families before us.  I contacted Katrina’s boss. No response. Our car was gone, and we needed $200 to free it from this unfortunate and unnecessary incarceration. This timing, it was not so good for us in the gelt department. The next week, we searched under sofa cushions and on the floors of our cars to scrape by — no joke. The fight, it continued. Went on for weeks. The neighbors, they all complained. We did not relent, and we finally got word, today, that we will be credited $200 towards next month’s rent. Azoy! (Huzzah!)

There’s more, but this seems like just enough. End on a good note.

Tsum shtain zol men klogen nor nit bei zikh zol men trogen. Better pour out your troubles to a stone, but don’t carry them within yourself. So, I’m pouring. Thanks for reading! 

Wishing you all a tsuris (trouble) free time. A bei gezunt (Be in good health).

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Wordless Wednesdays: In the ‘hood

Slowwwww

Moo

clay

Baa

Dont grow up

friends shadow

Pinkberry

My goal...
My goal…I should only be so good!

Far kinder tsereist men a velt. For your children’s sake you would tear the world apart.

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Car Seats and Kids: Both the 2-legged and 4-legged kind

My Little being silly
My Little being silly. Oh how she loves her Gatsby!

Injury prevention in cars is a big deal. Seat belts really do safe lives. People on the roadways are especially meshuggeneh (nuts) and have too many reasons to take their eyes off the road. They are texting, shaving, applying make-up, taking conference calls, checking their noses for schmutz (dirt, like bears in the cave) and managing to find the teeny, tiny toy the kinder (children) have dropped to the floor with the one free arm that isn’t holding a scalding hot, freshly brewed latte. It’s a nightmare, or day-mare, depending on your driving routine.

By law, kids today will be in rear facing car seats until we take them for their driver’s permit. Then, and only then, will they be front facing and in a belt-positioning booster. As we drop them off at college or university, they will hopefully meet the height and weight criteria to be properly belted in as an adult. Oy!

I have a pretty good view here
I have a pretty good view here

Thinking further about car safety for Fido (or in my case, Gatsby), this Yiddisher Momma believes that kinder (sweet children) of all kinds need protection too. Enter the K9CarFence.

A hunt iz a mol getrei’er fun a kind. A dog is sometimes more faithful than a child. 

I had the pleasure of meeting Ira Stahl, owner and inventor of this harness-free, crash-tested, made in the USA, pooch protection when he was making a service call as an electrician at my work. Who knew this mild-mannered mensch (good guy) was electrician by day, and K9 superhero by night! We all got to schmoozing (talking) as people do, and this electrical maven (expert) mentioned his groundbreaking invention to help the doggies of the world travel safely in cars. My eyes lit-up! Gutinue (OMG)! I must have one for my Gatsby! After much nachas (joy and pleasure) shared over my 4-legged boychik (little boy) and Ira’s two little loves, it was agreed Ira would give my Gatsby the safety and security of his own K9CarFence TLC-2X in return for a product review.

What the, what the???
What the, what the???

I said, Ira, “I gotta be honest to my readers.” He was confident, and came within the next few days to install a brand new K9 CarFence in my car. Five minutes, he was done! He explained every step of the easy installation, and off he went.

We have now had this gem for some 3+ weeks and I have only great things to say. In fact, I’m kvelling (bursting with pride) over this safety fence. The first time in my car, Gatsby was not a happy camper and tried desperately to escape. He was used to laptop sitting (dangerous!) and snuggling. By the second ride in his enclosure, he was much more at ease. He could see us through the mesh and look out the window. By the third time, it was his throne! He owned it and walked in with pride. I lowered the window a bissel (bit) — he happily sniffed outside, and then settled into his ‘circle pose’ of rest. Canine shavasana! I added a blanket that he nuzzles, settles and snuggles, safe and sound. My Gatsby hound.

Look at that sun!
Look at that sun! I wouldn’t have noticed that before on Momma’s lap

Canine babies need their own place in the car too. Who would dare let their tiny human flop about in the back seat like I did as a kid? My Big and Little, shana maidelahs (beautiful girls) that they are, have been restrained by the very best. Now, they are bubbellahs (sweeties) in boosters. We strap in and click. What, the Gatsby’s of the world don’t need such protection? Of course they do! Dogs are good people!

The benefits of enclosing your pooch in the car with a K9 CarFence is very much like that of your kinder (children) in their car seats:

  • Holds them in one secure place as you drive
  • Confining comfortably protects them from acting as a projectile in case of a collision
  • Prevents them from climbing into your lap and stealing your sanity nudjing (pestering) you
  • One less thing to be distracted about while driving
  • Safeguards them from the impact of sudden or unexpected stops
  • In the case of an accident, kaynahorah, pthui, pthui, pthui (it shouldn’t happen), they stay confined, preventing further catastrophic incidents like running into traffic and possibly causing another crash pthui, pthui, pthui
  • Traffic violations for driving with a dog that is not properly restrained/confined range in price from $25 to $1000. Ouch!

The K9 CarFence is like a comfy den for your dog. Have a bigger dog? They have options my lovers of furry friends. The TLC-2X fits both front and back seat. As an added bonus, its durable and lightweight construction protects your car interior as it comforts your fur-baby.

I heartily recommend the K9 CarFence for the safe ride and peace of mind you have while driving alongside everyone’s best friend. My Gatsby, he gives a hearty 4 paws up! And the Mrs. and the kinder, they love it too! In dog we trust.

Please know, as in all of my writing, all opinions are my own. If you should agree with me, we are all the better! Either way, I’d love to hear read your comments! Nu? I can take it!

Ven dos mazel kumt, shtel im a shtul. If fortune calls, offer him a seat.

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Wordless Wednesdays: Last bits of Summer

The tire swing

Proud frog Mama

Eva and the Frog

Morning

Neko

Nona's things

Checking

School Shoes :)
School Shoes 🙂

The Mrs. at Work

Morning drive

Oib di velt vet verren oisgelaizt, iz es nor in zechus fun kinder. If the world will ever be redeemed, it will be only through the merit of children.

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Wordless Wednesday: Oh the places we go

mt airy fest

big at the fest

music

little in car

look whose tooth came out...
look whose tooth came out…

Wiss 1

log play

log play color

what is it

Gat

wiss walk

cicada season

mush

Oib di velt vet verren oisgelaizt, iz es nor in zechus fun kinder (If the world will ever be redeemed, it will be only through the merit of children).

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Wordless Wednesday: Lazy, crazy summer days

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A bei gezunt (as long as you’re healthy)! 

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You gotta have heart

image 

Oy. It’s only Tuesday and it’s already been some week. Little and Big, they are getting a little bit of shpilkes (like ants in your pants when it’s the littles) as summer winds down. The Mrs., and me we are a bit unnerved to say the least. These little shana maidels (sweet, beautiful girls) of ours, truly are wonderful little humans. And like all of you out there, we have our moments. You may have read about our dinner table tsuris (troubles) a couple of posts back. As they say, a work in progress? Nu?

I understand now why all adult characters on the Peanuts, you know, Charlie Brown, Lucy, and Linus, they all sound like,”Wah wah wah wah wah, wah wah.” It was an actual trombone they used to make the sound. That trombone is what our voices sound like to the kinder (kids)! Charles Schultz, he knew this way back when, that the kids drown out our voices with selective hearing. Snoopy is now 66 years old and lives in a retirement village with Peppermint Patti in Boca.

Until yesterday, it has been 192 degrees in the shade. Walking from the apartment to the car was enough to make you plotz (faint, or even drop dead). The water at the pool was near boiling, less than refreshing. My Mrs., perhaps inspired by the Olympics, she set up a gymnastics area in our hallway here at the Manor. The mini indoor trampoline leads into the ‘exercise mat,’ also known as the bottom of the trundle bed. The girls, they bounce and jump and kick and land in cartwheels, somersaults, flip-flops and triple double axles. It’s a lovely release of energy, a heart-starter and somewhat quiet in comparison to the,”Wah wah wah wah wah, wah wah” that has been going on, and ignored. My Mrs., a genius!

Mittendrinnen (in the middle of everything), I have been experiencing heart palpitations for the past thirty-six four months. It’s not enough to just have chronic pain and all the joy that comes along with that… I had to go ‘all-extracurricular’ and add a new medical ‘–ist’ to the team line up. After meeting yesterday with the cardiologist, they ran some tests, looked at my blood and ordered a halter monitor for me to wear for 2 weeks. Things look okay, but who’s to say? The doc, he says, “Do you have a lot of stress? Are you sleeping well?” What a jokester he is!

Ven tsores laigt zikh nit oifen ponem, laigt zikh es oifen hartsen (When distress doesn’t show on the face, it lies on the heart).

Apparently, I’m a chaleria (nervous, anxious wreck) on the inside only, from this thing called life, or at least the last couple of years. And it may be manifesting in the lub-dub, lub-dub of my very own Tell-Tale Heart. I get a call a few hours later from the heart monitor people who are setting up my delivery. They tell me my out-of-pocket expenses after insurance for this little device will be only $860 and change. Are they fucking nuts? We don’t have that kid of loot! This baby is a beauty, she records every blip, 24/7.

Elizabeth, this is the big one. I’m coming to join you!” (For all of you non-baby-boomers, this is a television reference to Sanford and Son.)

The 'Post-It Note' model, easy and affordable
The ‘Post-It Note’ model, easy and affordable

This fabulous pain point delivered directly to me from my brand new –ist! Is he kidding me? Who makes this MCOT unit, Rolex? What’s a frugalista momma to do? I dry the sweat from my forehead and dial-up Dr. Fancypants. I have to ask if there is another option? Of course, he has left for the day. Nu? I speak with his nurse and she tries to help me out. Lub-dub, lub-dub. A few moments later, I get another call from the monitor people. I’m still breathing, barely, and they tell me what good news they have for me! There is a cheaper version! Azoy (really)! It’s called the ‘Event’ monitor. It only records when there is a not so hotsy-totsy incident, like a skipped beat, added beats, or maybe a flat line. This one, a real bargain at only $187. Oy vey iz mir.

A bei gezunt (as long as you’re healthy). Lub-dub, lub-dub.

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Wordless Wednesday: Walk this way…

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Der emes ken arumgain a naketer; dem lign darf men baklaidn (The truth can walk around naked; the lie has to be clothed).

Thanks for walking with us!

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Oh the places you’ll go (if you’re a germ)

These teeth, I have to protect, nu?
These teeth, I have to protect, nu?

It’s no joke! This blogging thing, it takes you places and introduces you to some wonderful, amazingly talented people. I’m having the time of my life! Nu?

Along this theraputic journey of mine, I met up with Lisa and the good people from Intellident. They asked me if I would do a product review of their Disposable Toothbrush Shields, mittendrinnen (in the middle) of my writing therapy. Who am I to say no to a new opportunity? The little box of free goodies arrived, and my mishpocheh (family), we got busy and tried it. So here I go with my very first product review. Stay with me, please…

Now, it must be said: I was raised by a militant, neatnik mother, who truly put OCD on the map. As an unfortunate repercussion, I like things to be a bit clean and neat. Tidy would be a word to describe me, sure. I am also married to my Mrs., have two beautiful shana madelehs (sweet little girls) and a puppy, Gatsby. We share 900 square feet here at the Manor. Together, cleanliness is next to dogliness. Walking in, I always have a sneaking suspicion that we may have been robbed, or at least the apartment was maybe tossed by the feds? But hey, we live here, we love here, we play here and we have fun here. Making memories, right?

Enter the bathroom. For my friends across the pond, I’m referring to the loo, the water closet. Here in the good ol’ U.S. of A., the library, the throne, the porcelain pot. In this room, no matter how often you clean it, lurks germs, noro-viruses, mold, E. coli, fungi, MRSA, your run of the mill surface and airborne ‘disgustingness’ and other toxic nasties. This is also where, we the people, clean up, clean out, shower, floss and brush. Oy vey.

Every time you flush, a literal mushroom cloud of poo, bacteria and beastly biohazards are thrust into the air by the cleansing flood of water. Our toothbrushes, that sit simply atop the sink in a shared family cup, absorb contamination and contagions that are ready to enter our bodies by any means accessible.

Location, location, location
Location, location, location… Right next to the mushroom cloud, oy vey

So for the past few weeks, armed with the new nasty knowledge of toxins brewing atop our toothy bristles, we placed disposable toothbrush shields on each of our 4 toothbrushes. The company says it’s like, a little surgical mask for your toothbrush. Me and the kinder (children), we called them hats. We were each in control of our own chapeau, and we changed it after 7 days as suggested. I must tell you the emmes (the real deal, the down low) truth when I say, I feel safer. It’s like my brush has its own hazmat suit. 

When Little had the sniffles and sneezes after swimming, or the Mrs. had the telltale signs of sickness, I didn’t think for one second, not one, that influenza would overtake our house. For all I know, it was allergies for both, but regardless, I was chill. My TB had a hat!

4 thumbs up (and a paw) from this family
4 thumbs up (and a paw) from this family

Our toothbrushes cuddle in our cup and we are protected. This my friends is a mitzvah (a very good thing)! I can’t wait to see how these little masks/hazmat suits/hats shield us from the dreaded startofschooleritis; when nose picking, water bottle sharing and free-falling ahhhh-choos spread from youngest to oldest before the first school bell tolls.

Negatives:

  • Not reusable/washable
  • Not recyclable

Positives:

  • Surgical mask for your toothbrush
  • 99.9% effective barrier against airborne and surface bacteria
  • Replaces those clunky plastic boxes that serve as breeding grounds for germs
  • Perfect for home, travel, work, gym, backpack, purse, etc.
  • Disposable
  • Inexpensive: click here to see (and I’m a forced frugalista)
  • Women owned business (yeah!)
  • Made in the USA, really it is!

So for you dear readers, there are two things I must recommend:

  1. When you geh in der klozet (go to the toilet), shut the lid before you flush
  2. Use Disposable Toothbrush Shields from Intellident

Please know, no toothbrushes were harmed during this test. No monies exchanged hands for this review. We are going to continue to use this ingenious product. 

A gezunt ahf dein kop (Good health to you)!

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Wordless Wednesday: Why Not? Nu?

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Busy, Shmizzy: Eat Dinner Together for a Better World

Folks, it’s time for a post update. We still fearlessly, tirelessly, endlessly march on, supping together in hopes of a higher purpose. Manners are hard to come by here at the Manor. This week I see that mac-n-cheese is still perceived and approached as finger food. Opposable thumbs do not impress our small humans. The Mrs., and me, our voices continue to make no sound at all to our giggly little, pierced ears who nosh (eat a little) during this very important nutritional act of derring-do. My glass, it stays half full yes, they spilled again, but I am using the metaphor now

and this is how we eat noodles
and this is how we eat noodles, in stereo with Cousin Max, at a restaurant no less. Oy!

I’m always telling suggesting to the Mrs. about the importance of sitting down together to ess a bissel (eat a little). How we need to dine with the full mishpocheh (family). Studies by big machers (hot shots) like scholars and doctors all laud the big meal get together as the solution to practically all that plagues the planet (don’t get me started, oy vey iz mir).

Jointly sitting and supping brings benefits to the body, brain and overall ‘mini-mojo’ of our kinder (kids). A nice nosh (proper meal) together makes for little epicureans that become ‘epi-curious’ eaters who will choose more fruits and veggies, and pick less fried foods and sugary beverages. If mealtime is conquered correctly, the consuming kinder (children) are less likely to kvell (be happy) over a ‘happy meal’ that is loaded with tasty toxins, added fats, oils and who the hell knows what other unsavory ingredients. They won’t hunger for the little tchotchkes (small, unnecessary plastic toys), that promote future gluttony and materialism. They will be less likely to become obese. That alone equals a healthier lifestyle with fewer illnesses. Kaynahorah (to ward off evils — like the big C, heart disease and stroke), all this magic with one familial sit down a day?

Wait! There’s more. Those same above-mentioned mavens add that clever conversation over a nice meal boosts vocabulary for our kinder (kids), which makes for stronger, happier readers. Nu? If you can survive manage regular family mealtimes as the kinder mature, higher test scores, better grades and overall academic performance are in your future.

Add an avocado to the meal, and you win top honors in Nobel nutrition.

Well, it is obvious that no maven of any sort has observed the goings on at our little corner of the dining room here at the Manor. The Mrs. and me, we do our best to offer nightly variations of healthy, overly expensive organic suppers while trying to stick to our frugalista rice and beans every night still ways. With you, I must be honest, dinners hock mier en chinikeh (drives me bat-shit crazy). Etiquette and decorum have left the building by this witching hour!

Things usually start smoothly. The girls, they clean up a bit and set the table when we beg, plead and bribe. They help bring out our food (beans and rice). We all sit, and the Mrs. and I, we ask open-ended questions like a job interview to try to get them to respond speak with us. They sit with their knees up, spread eagle (vey iz mir), and have clearly left their listening ears in the ‘OFF’ position. They seem to have their own form of communication that is specifically designed to exclude us. They use their fingers instead of utensils even for soup. In fact, just last night, I was prompted to wax eloquent on the beauty of our opposable thumbs and how they separate us from the animal kingdom in hopes they would just pick up a g-damned fork or a spoon and eat like humans.

Little, she has a tendency to lick random and incredibly disgusting things WTF. She gets up from the table an average of  267 times per meal. She may need more water, go use the bathroom, want something better to eat, have an undeniable urge to dance, jump on the trampoline, or simply incite an enormous giggle-fest with Big. And I won’t kid you when I say it, she ‘toots like a trumpeter’ at the table. My madelah (sweet little girl)!

Big, she started with the whole knees up posture. She may use a fork for a moment or two, then she will quickly resort to her more primal instincts and pick up everything with her fingers, especially condiments. She can tell a story or two during dinner, and get up to act it out, share via interpretive dance, or become totally taken in by the mishegas (craziness) of Little. This leaves the Mrs. and me sitting table-side for what must be days, weeks, months hours, getting all cobwebby, and stiff-jointed, waiting for her to finish the feast.

And mittendrinnen (in the middle of everything), Gatsby, will jump into any temporarily vacated seat, and make a quick and successful quest for any food sitting idle.

Gatsby, on the prowl
Gatsby, on the prowl

The shvesters (sisters) behavior has the Mrs. and me chugging the Apple Cider Vinegar (an excellent indigestion remedy) nightly, straight from the bottle. It’s a mitzvah (good deed) we don’t drink enough or at all!

Lo and behold, we will endure these rituals because we have put our trust in the big macher alrightniks (good people).

Charlotte, she will weave her nightly web around us. We make this sacrifice night after night with the promise that our girls will not engage in high-risk behaviors like smoking, drugs or sex ever, ever, ever. They won’t have depressed or suicidal thoughts. They will avoid bullies at school and online. They will be self-confident and self-loving and avoid eating disorders.

They will be strong, mighty girls who can lean in. And they will have empathy and compassion, because each night, we do our best to make it through another make your own burrito bowl.

I wonder if there are any studies of what happens to us mom’s as we suffer go through this phase?

A bei gezunt (Live and be well).

 

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3 Days / 3 Quotes: Game On Day 3

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Day 3 is already here. Oy! (wow). I want to share with you, some quotes on Love. Today, is for the Mrs., the love of my life, my best friend, Ema (mother) of our kinder (kids Big and Little), and a SAHM (no easy task)! She is smart, creative, such talent she has… And her beauty, it is inside and out. Oozing from her… If you think you’re going to see a picture of her here, now, you’re missheguneh (nuts)! I don’t have a pre-approved, okay to share with the world shot. Photo, shmoto — I wouldn’t be able to capture her essence anyhow. And that is the emmes (absolute, for real, not lie) truth.

Why Quotes? Because who am I to say no to a challenge? Don’t you know, just a few short days ago. I’m reading some of my fave bloggers, and I see that Helen, over at At Least I Have a Brain, is in the midst of a 3 day quote challenge. As I  study the quotes on her page, there I am, mittendrinnen (smack-dab in the middle) of her post! Game on Helen, and THANK YOU for this wonderful experience.

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Day 3: Honey, my Mrs., today is for you. Ich hob dir lieb (I love you)! Thank you for putting up with me, all my mishegas (craziness) and associated dreck (crap) like chronic pain, and, well you know… Here we go:

“If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day so I never have to live without you.”

— Winnie the Pooh

“I love her and that’s the beginning and end of everything.”

— F. Scott Fitzgerald

“I love you. I am who I am because of you. You are every reason, every hope, and every dream I’ve ever had, and no matter what happens to us in the future, everyday we are together is the greatest day of my life. I will always be yours.”

— Nicholas Sparks

And, one Yiddish line of wisdom I must add here. It is so important for us in this frugalista state of our union:

Tsuzogen un lib hoben kost nit kain gelt (It doesn’t cost anything to promise and to love).

Of course, there are rules!

  • Provide 3 new quotes on many topics each day for three days
  • Nominate 3 new bloggers each day for three days
  • Thank the lovely writer who challenged you (HELEN!), always
  • Let the bloggers you have challenged, know about it (it’s a thing, part of the shtick)

My three maven (expert) bloggers for Day 3:

  1. Jenn at AMotherofAllTrades
  2. Cecile at TheFrenchieMummy
  3. Mac at ReflectionsFromMe

Have at it my friends…M’wah!

A bei gezunt (As long as we’re healthy)!

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I thought I was ready for shock, anger, disappointment and fear

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Gutinue! (Jeeze Louise!) WTF What is going on? Last week, here, in the good ol’ U. S. of A., the Republican National Convention officially nominated the ill-equipped, narcissistic, racist, sexist, violence provoking, psychopathic, tax evading, reality TV star Donald Trump and his poisonous partner in conservatism and hate, Mike Pence. Please forgive me if I may have left off an adjective, or ten. Gonifs (thieves, dishonest people), the two of them are.

Donny and Mike do not think (I could end the sentence perfectly well here):

  • That the Mrs. and I should be married (How do I tell that to Big and Little?)
  • That #BlackLivesMatter
  • That borders should be open for Muslims, and that every Muslim here, needs to go
  • That Mexicans should live in our country, so we need to build a great big wall
  • That any country should send us their tired, their poor, their hungry, especially if there is a history of terrorism
  • That anyone with a uterus should have a choice over their own body
  • That guns are a problem
  • That climate change exists
  • That debt can be fixed with the Art of the Deal

Mr. Trump, he ended his goliath gathering with throngs chanting, “lock her up” and “build the wall.” Nice. I’m certain their mothers are all very pleased. This Yiddisher Momma is having all sorts of ‘Hitleresque’ feelings and will steer clear of any showers built or ‘camps’ created in the terrifying event of a Trump win.

Today, Hillary and Tim are here, in my city, for their big soiree, the Democratic National Convention. Admittedly, she is flawed. Server-gate was not a good move, and I can get past that. Email-gate? Trump will no doubt thank the Russians and his pal Putin for this latest wiki-leak.

The main reason people HATE (yes hate) Hillary, is blatant sexism. She is held to a standard that those who stand up to pee are not. While by no means perfect (as if such a thing exists), she is smart, aggressive, influential and well equipped to seek the highest ‘glass-ceiling shattering’ power office in this country. If a man with her same qualifications, experiences and credentials were running for the very oval office she is running for, they would have been applauded from sea to shining sea. Even by Bernie.

And for those of you who are still feeling the Bern, whether he is an atheist or a Jew, GET THE FUCK OVER IT! He didn’t make it. There was no great big conspiracy.

Nu? So you’re united in your unhappiness about whose left?

To quote Ted Cruz, “Vote your conscience.” Vey iz mere (holy shit!), I just quoted a very hateful man as he spoke live from the RNC floor. And he is right. On the first Tuesday after the first Monday in November, get the hell up and VOTE. Hold your nose, stuff a sock in your mouth if you have to, but vote you must.

And if you don’t vote, voo den (what the fuck heck) do you expect to happen? Madness. Chaos. Anarchy. And a power-hungry man with his finger on ‘the red button.’

If you don’t get out and vote, than we all will be no better than vi a fortz in rossel (a fart in a barrel).

VOTE please. I was with her in the primary. And #ImWithHer now. #ImWithHer

 

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The simple truth about my guilt packing a pistol

Anyone who knows me knows that I despise guns. I believe the right to bare arms has been totally misconstrued from a constitutional amendment that stands for a well-armed militia, hundreds of years ago, vs. ‘I’m scared of you and your pack of skittles,’ or, ‘your tail light is out; get me your license and registration.’ ‘Nuf said. You can read many of my other posts pontificating on the excessive violence, racism and hate in our world.

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I feel quite the hypocrite. I have a puppy. His name is Gatsby. Yes, after the Great Gatsby. He is the first real dog we have had. He chews on the wood trim and doors. He buries and hides his bones throughout the apartment. He digs holes outside in the common areas. He climbs the sofa and leaps to the kitchen counter (really) to eat the scraps of a peanut butter sandwiches left over from Big. He puppy-nips at Little for, well, being Little. He scavenges for food as we walk around the neighborhood.

Enter this pistol packing, gun-toting, and charlatan of a Yiddisher Momma. To clarify, the arms I carry is a water pistol / squirt gun. It is used purely for correctional puppy purposes. It shoots sprays a stream of water from afar, alerting my dear, loveable mutt that he is acting less than the stellar boychik (little boy) we need him to become.

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A happy puppy is a well-exercised puppy. This also fits in with the lifestyle of this Yiddisher Momma. As we gad about the ‘hood, Gatsby is an incessant barker when he spies another pup. He is fantastically friendly, yet simply desperate to meet a new buddy. The yapping, more like a geshrei (quite loud and piercing), ceases the moment he is nose to nose with a new canine comrade. Where their noses go after, they should live and be well. But until that point, vey iz mer (OMG!)…

I hadn’t yet mentioned that he is a rescue. Here, the term is dual in nature. We rescued him because he was in need of a loving family and a home, and he rescued us, as our family was in dire need of an affectionate and playful pooch. We all make a nice family.

The boychik (little boy) of the family!

As a rescue, he rummages for food, no matter how many times we fill his bowl with healthy, raw, canine cuisine. If left to his own devices, he will eat pure dreck (trash, poo, bugs, vomit, grass, and dead things), along with anything else in reach. Just last week, I pulled from his mouth, a small dead bird, 4 chicken (oh my, I hope so at least) bones, many wood chips, and did I mention the deceased fowl?

After much reading, and searching our memories of pugs past (Atticus and Elijah), we remembered the squirt tactic. I searched high and low for an affordable ‘squirter’ that did not resemble a G-U-N. Fifteen years ago we had an alligator and a snail, or a flower… that delivered the same watery lesson. But the lifeless, leathery bird was too much mishegas (craziness) for me to bear. This frugalista had to do something fast and furious. I entered the Family Dollar, and found 3 shiny, colorful water guns: red, green and yellow. They were small enough to carry, big enough to do the job. All for one dollar.

We can now walk for an hour or more, and have maybe, 2 squirts, mostly related to over-barking. We can walk right past that mummified mouse, covered in ants. Newfound wisdom allows him to dodge the remains from the Colonel’s chicken bucket. It’s a remarkable transformation for which we are all kvelling (bursting with joy)!

But I am still packing. So if any of you are aware of some affordable arms that hold no resemblance to those ghastly items I loathe, do tell! Gatsby and me, we are a work in progress.

 

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I can fry a couple of eggs on my abdomen, can you?

sizzle, shmizzle
sizzle, shmizzle

I can also pop corn on my face. Pretty impressive you’re thinking, ha?

Warning to all male readers: I am about to delve into the anatomy of a hot flash. This may mean talk of lady parts (though doubtful), cycles that coincide with the moon, and all things related to estrogen, and the natural biological process of what I call, estrogen-not.

You’re still here. Nice. After all, you have wives, moms, and daughters. You’re a real mensch (good-hearted person) for staying! So, as I was saying, my body has run cold my entire life. Blue fingers and lips when it’s 89 degrees in the shade…no joke! I wear many layers of clothing all year round. And yes, I’m at that age where that mysterious metamorphosis  materializes.

I remember back in the day, getting happy when I got carded before entering a bar. It’s the exact same feeling now when the doctor or lab technician says, “Do you still get your period honey?” Go Girrrrrrrrrrrl!

It’s crazy, from the moment that first red dot appeared, I despised it. My parents, they made such a taka mitziah (big fucking deal) out of it – took me out to dinner? My mother, she told the waitress. Attention Judy Blume: you, God and Margaret did not help me to prep me for a scenario like that. “I’ll have the nova platter with an everything bagel, toasted lightly, cream cheese on the side; Morty, he’ll have the stuffed cabbage, and my daughter, she got her period today!” That was a long time ago, but the memory is etched in my brain.

And now, look at me, saving energy by cooking on my sizzling body parts! I’m finally one hot momma! At first, I had maybe 3 hot flashes, and that was it. I thought, well that was easy! Today, I get my schvitz (a deep, heavy sweat) on maybe 8, 9, 23 times a day (and night). This schvitz emanates from the subterranean parts of my core and rises both up and out simultaneously. Toxins and impurities run scared from every molecule of my being.

While this little body convection oven starts cooking, my heart, she races. Archetypal fight or flight heart palpitations, like the saber-toothed tiger is running after me, mittendrinnen (in the middle of ) every fucking thing. My fingers, they tingle (which is good, because I have to flip the eggs to cook evenly). And a perfect coating of sweat covers every single square inch of my person, from the waist up. I’m lichticheh (lit-up) and radiant. They don’t call this a flash for nothing! As quickly as she starts, she’s over. After, I get a little bit chilly. Oy vey iz mer.

Does this mean I’m an alta kocker (literally, the term means an old shit, but over the years, pleasantries have reduced the term to more akin with, ‘old fart’)? Hell no! I think age is a just a state of mind. My Little and my Big, they keep me young. I’m reliving the childhood I missed get with them, and loving almost every minute of it. And, I gotta stay young to take care of my Mrs.

For now, I’ll make eggs, or pop popcorn, and take solace in knowing that I am still being responsible and frugal for my family. Spa, shmah! For a schvitz like THIS, it would cost an arm and a leg.

Note: no eggs were harmed during the writing of this post. And Alannis, isn’t it a bissel (little bit) ironic that when my eggs cease to produce, I can scramble, poach, sunny-side up and over-easy like a pro right atop those ovaries? Next up, omelets. 

Nu?

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How awesome is the spreading of Happiness?

Big thanks and hugs to Ms. Mango, at Gain Through the Pain
Big thanks and hugs to Ms. Mango, at Gain Through the Pain

Ms. Mango of Gain through the Pain, she ‘happified’ me! Me! And she did it on a day I r-e-a-l-l-y needed it. On a day I wrote about hatred in our world. On a day that wasn’t a Monday, but felt like the mother of all Mondays. On a day that genuinely needed some bliss and delight, she gave me the HAPPINESS TAG!

Normally, I’m kvelling (oozing with joy), holding my glass half full and needing sunscreen SPF 50, for my very own sunny disposition. Thank you ever so Ms. Mango for literally lifting me out of a place I seldom go anymore. You pounced in time to prevent the pity party protocol! I am so very grateful, and, well, Happy! You my dear, make me happy!

To know that my therapeutic writing blogging helps put a smile on Ms. Mango’s punim (face) gives me extra nachas (joy, not to be confused with ‘nachos,’ which can be joyful if made exceedingly well)!

Official Rules, sanctioned by the blogosphere honor guard:

  • 5 Things that make you happy
  • 5 Songs that make you happy.
  • 5 Bloggers that make you happy — Let them know you nominated them, then, a light nosh (snack) perhaps, and you are done

So here goes.

Happy x 5 (How lucky am I, having a real list of totally nachas inducing (happy making) things, that far exceeds the one below. Oh, how I can go on!):

  1. The Mrs., Big and Little
My girls...
My girls…
  1. Rescuing the Great Gatsby
The boychik (little boy) of the family!
The boychik (little boy) of the family!
  1. The sound of the Mrs. laughinggets me every time! A picture doesn’t do this one justice. Plus, in case you haven’t noticed, the Mrs., she likes to stay behind the lens and the scenes. Just know that even the thought of her laughter as I am typing, so vivid in my mind and in my ears, is filling my heart and I am grinning like the Cheshire cat!
  1. Mint Chocolate Chip Ice Cream: No picture. I tried, I really did. Twice actually. But, it’s gone now and it was delicious! A nice nosh (little snack) any time of day or year.
  1. Blogging with Yiddish on WordPress: oh what fun I am having, sharing my thoughts and feelings, meeting real haimisheh (warm, down-to-earth) people in this wonderful community, experiencing catharsis and actually knowing that I have readers friends who read, and smile. Forgive me; I’m kvelling (bursting with pride) inside again! Oy!

blogger mommy

Songs x 5 (Another tough one to limit!) Pipes, piano and lyrics all matter:

  1. And I’m telling You, I’m not Going, Jennifer Hudson from Dreamgirls
  1. Piano Man, Billy Joel
  1. The Power of Two, Indigo Girls
  1. Philosophy, Ben Folds Five
  1. When we were Young, Adele You tube wouldn’t let me play it from my little blogging site, so please, give a listen here. Pipes! Vey iz mere! (OMG!)

My 5 Bloggers (hard to limit!!!) that give me nachas (make me Happy)

  1. Donna at yadadarcyyada
  2. Su at Ethan&Evelyn
  3. Trista at DomesticatedMomster
  4. Renee at LifeInTheBoomerLane
  5. Louise at PinkPearBear

Happiness and Nachas to all! I wish I could list all of you! Mwah!

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Why is there so much hate in the world?

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My heart, it hurts, a lot.

Help me; I feel a bit discouraged today. I’m not my usual sunny self.

My kinder, Little and Big, are growing up in a culture that is so riddled in hate. And it is growing overwhelmingly, and at warp speeds.

Me, I’m out looking for the fairies tossing pixie dust, playing harps (really cool ones), planting trees and lighting the path to eternal sunshine, love, peace and happiness? Others, they put on vests voluntarily and enter crowded airports and tourist hot spots, or purchase firearms and forever change what safety means.

Such brokkh (disaster and misfortune) I refuse to get used to!

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Hate, the worst of the four letter words, is learned and it spreads like a contagion.

I have a friend whose family came here to visit, leaving from the very same Turkish Airport that the terrorists blew up, less than 24 hours later. Someone was shot in our parking lot just a few weeks back, and just minutes before, he killed another human being.

I’m sorry, but moments of silence and prayer are bullshit not cutting it for me. I do not mean to offend those who believe, but there cannot be a God whose plan is that we strategically pick each other off the planet to see who wins; most often, one by one — and too often, en masse. Poo, poo, may they all rest in peace…

Why the hell can’t we find a way to all live in peace? Is that so farshlugineh (crazy, irrational, mixed up)?

Did we just throw away our moral compass?

How did the bar get so low?

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This post is filled with questions that I do not have the answers to. What I do know is that:

  • I’m all for gun control, background checks and mental health checks
  • I don’t think my neighbor, or yours for that matter, should have the right to bear arms. I have shpilkes (panic) when I consider that he or she may – what if my shana madelahs (sweet little darling girls) are there for a play date?
  • Color me crazy, but mental health is and should be valued as highly as physical health, whether you want a gun or not
  • I think we all should feel safe going to school, the movies, a dance club, the airport, at work and anywhere else the fuck we want to go
  • I think everyone should be able to pee without showing a birth certificate
  • I want to love out loud, fearlessly

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Do we have the chutzpah (balls, yes balls) to make change out of this unconscionable tsuris (troubled, mayhem) of a world?

Won’t you help me? Please? My kishkas (intestines) are in knots at the thought of us not joining together with empathy in our hearts. Don’t we all deserve so much better than this? For the kinder (children), we make it better?

Alevai (It should only happen)!

Das hartz hat mir gezoght (My heart told me) it would.

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Botox Day: A Story in Pictures at the Hospital / Shmospital

Back, at last...
Back, at last…my glass is half full
Oy vey. This I have to wear?
Oy vey. This I have to wear?
Hospital, shmospital
Hospital, shmospital
Over here Doc. I'm here. It's me! C'mon.
Over here Doc. I’m here. It’s me! C’mon.
Doc is asking for me!
I heard my name. YES!
Ready, set, go
Ready, set, go
In 3 - 5 days I'll be better...
In 3 – 5 days I’ll be better…
This morning, waiting for the Botox to kick in
This morning, waiting for the Botox to kick in

Coming soon: a better parent, wife, sister, friend…

 

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We need some ‘Law and Order’ at the Manor

This was not what I intended by having a room with a view
This was not what I intended by ‘A room with a View’

Who needs cable? We have our own excitement around here. Vey iz mere (heaven forbid) some normalcy we should have. Our evening started off so tranquilly. As a family, we noshed (ate dinner) on a nice meal. We streamed a delightful documentary, ‘First Position,’ about young ballet dancers, hard work, determination and the joy of the dance. It was magnificent. Little and Big were kind to each other, wore their listening ears well, and we were all assembled in a family-style, sofa-sized snuggle. Bouts of ballet broke out before us as Little and Big sensed the genius they were watching and tested their own moxie as dancers took to the stage. We watched through the credits, kinder leaping and twirling.

It was Friday night, my turn to cuddle my kinder (kids) to schluffy (sleep). We kissed the Mrs. and Gatsby, our pooch, good night, and pranced into the bedroom for dreamland. I had a shana madelah (little innocent daughter) curled in each arm. What could be bad? Nu? Big, she fell first, as witnessed by the cutest little purr of a snore. My Little, always the challenge, dared dreamland and the imaginings ahead in the dark. Yet even she soon surrendered sweetly. I felt her soft breath on my cheek. The toil of the ‘short-long week’ took its toll, and I soon drifted off too, smile on my punim (face).

Mittendrinnen (in the middle of everything), the Mrs., she comes running in, out of breath, shaking my feet, trembling, and saying, “Someone’s been shot in the parking lot!” Not two minutes before, she was outside with Gatsby for the last walk of the night. I pray, no I don’t hope I’m dreaming? No such luck. I pinched myself; it hurt. Kaynahorah (without the evil eye), I looked around and my family was okay.

I stumbled out of the bedroom to the frightening scene that played out downstairs, just below our kitchen window. Police cars, marked and unmarked, flew in, lights blazing as it neared midnight. A man stumbled and fell out of a white car, blood pooling around him as he lay in agony on the macadam. Neighbors were trying to stop the blood that poured from his groin. Everyone called 911. I even called NBC 10 news-as if they would cover such a story.

“We’ll be right over, said the women at the news desk.” Have you seen them?

Where in the hell was the ambulance. At least six cop cars had arrived. Two cops dragged the poor screaming man by his legs, across the pavement, to their car. A trail of blood followed him. His girlfriend cried out in terror; he shouted, clearly suffering. The cops, they insisted they were helping him to get to the hospital. I can still hear his screams. My heart still thumps uncomfortably in my chest. Was this brutality? The Mrs. and I, we couldn’t help but wonder if a white man on a better street in a better section of Philly would have been schlepped (pulled) like that. #BlackLivesMatter

So began the investigation. No sign of a gun. No sign of a struggle. No shattered windows. No bullet holes from outside of the vehicle. A bloodied drivers seat and blood along the parking lot. What’ happened? The police turned to the girlfriend, arms bloodied as she tried to help her boyfriend, to stop the flow of his blood into the street.

“Where is the gun? Where are the cell phones? Do you have his SIM cards? Did you give them to your daughter to take inside?”

“I didn’t know he had a gun! He has lots of cell phones. I didn’t know he had a gun!”

This, it makes me like mice
This, it makes me like mice (well, they are better than this)

We were two white moms witnessing the horrors of the #BlackLivesMatter movement. The fear and the tension for everyone outside, painfully clear. The detectives started to pressure, to criminalize the girlfriend, who lives two flights below. The police wanted to take her in, didn’t trust her innocence in the events. The Mrs., she ran down 3 flights of steps to tell the detectives, “She’s telling you the truth! I was there, with my dog. Everything she said is what happened.”

The cops took the young, bloodied woman to the station. Her mother said to her, “Go along. We don’t want any trouble here.” The woman walked confidently to the car. The grandmother stayed home with the 9-year-old granddaughter, a witness to too much too soon, and perhaps too often.

The remaining cops and detectives placed yellow police tape around the area in question. The pool of blood shimmered in the night. The evidence bags came out, the flashlights. The Mrs. and me sat on the sofa, holding each other, crying. We were so grateful our girls slept through it all. We talked about what happened. Were we safe living here? What about the kinder (children)? Moving forward, we will refer to this horrible event as ‘pasta salad’ because Little and Big are too damned smart for their own good, figuring out everything we talk about in front of them. Listening only when we don’t want them to.

The next day, the Mrs., she ran in to the family, three generations of black women. They hugged her. They told her they loved her and that she really saved them that night. The daughter was released from the police safely, without incident. They said they let her go because the Mrs., she vouched for her.

We can only surmise how the gunshot transpired. Said boyfriend called moments before arriving to tell his girlfriend he was picking her up. Somewhere in the two minutes between, “I’m coming to get you” and pulling into the lot, he was shot. With no visible distress to the vehicle, he quite possibly, accidentally shot himself in the groin as he removed the gun from his pants before he picked up his girlfriend. He very likely shot his own nuts private parts off and ditched the gun along the way.

A few things I do know:

  1. #BlackLivesMatter
  2. Black people are and have been deprived of basic human rights and dignity in our country and it’s got to stop
  3. I despise guns
  4. My kids do not know about this event at the Manor, so please refer to this as ‘pasta salad’ if you discuss it in front of your kids, their friends
  5. My kinder, they know #BlackLivesMatter

This has got to stop.

A bei gezunt (we should all live and be well) together.

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Who leaves a dog in a car on a hot day?

shhhhhh. Therapy in Session. Help me understand this?

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Last week, I took a walk during lunch and found Truffula Trees! It was delightful and I felt giddy. This week, already marred with the pain and loss of Harambe, don’t you know I find a small dog in a hot vehicle parking lot? A paid parking lot, so this was deliberate and could last for hours! A shonda (shame) on so many counts. Who does this? Why?

I looked in, knocked on the doors and windows, to see if idiot humans anyone was with the soon to be poached pooch. The doors and windows were sealed shut. It was about 84 degrees in the shade yesterday. Furry little guy looked to weigh about 15 lbs, tops, as it sat in its dog bed (evidence of a perpetually bad habit?), panting in the passenger seat of a small mobile home, from California no less.

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Like any good dog loving human, I chased after a police car as it drove down the street. You wanna know why? A dog left in a hot car cooks a slow and ugly death.

  • Their cooling mechanisms will try hard to kick in — They will pant and drool, blood vessels will dilate
  • Blood pressure begins to change as the heart works harder to supply blood to the dilating vessels. Organs will start to pool blood, and pressure will drop
  • Organ damage begins — kidneys, stomach, intestines, liver all start to feel the thermal damages as blood clots form throughout, vomiting and bloody diarrhea develop and the brain swells
  • If that little red Rover was to reach 109F, and that can happen easily, there would be irreversible brain damage, seizures, coma, and then death
That's panting, not smiling
That’s panting, not smiling

Did you know, that even on a semi-cool day, say around 70F, the temperature in a vehicle could be as much as 40 degrees higher than outside?

The police were able to track down this nogudnik (less than moral and ethical character). He was in a local museum in the area. IN A MUSEUM! While Fido was frying like an egg, this yutz (jerk) was in a museum!

I couldn’t stay to watch this person(s), who left Rover without a care, to broaden his/her horizons at the historical, Eastern State Penitentiary (a fitting locale, this prison, for this chutzpenik (asshole a person with audacity and nerve) who could to do something so wrongful to human’s best friend. He/they should have to go to the big house, the joint, lockup.

I was going to stay, to gib a kick (get a load of) the schmuck(s) return from the ‘prison’ to meet the officers at the rolling home holding this canine captive, but I was too farklempt (overwrought with sadness and anger) to look at his/her punim (face).

I thanked the officers who helped to save this haggard and heated little guy. A mitzvah (good deed).

In dog we trust, at least I do…

A bei gesunt (We should live and be well).

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