Sunday, May 07, 2017

Cleaning up

I was tired today.

You know how it is. You sleep a lot on Shabbos, so Saturday night you don't sleep well, and then Sunday you're tired. 

 Also I had a long day at work and then I had my ukulele lesson, which was fantabulous and amazing and emotional but still left me a little drained and tired afterwards. 

 Homework. Dinner. More homework. More homework. Showers. Bedtime.

And now it's time to clean up , something I've needed to do every night for the last, say, 11 years.

And I'm just so grateful… Because what am I cleaning up?

Chumashim and neviim from homework.

Returned test papers with perfect and nearly perfect scores.

Placemats From dinner… Because the dishes were cleared by the girls to eat off of them. 

Piles and piles of borrowed books because my children love to read. 

Calvin and Hobbes on the couch because my children love to laugh. 

A sfiras haomer calendar, because my children love to do mitzvos.

Clean sheets to fold, because we had guests. 

A computer to put away, because we were able to Skype with grandparents. 

I am so blessed. So blessed, and so thankful.

....I still don't wanna clean up :)

Friday, March 10, 2017

Easiest morning rush ever

Can we have costume day once a week???

Note my bonny bonny Llama of Loch MacDruyan and my own namesake, Miriam.

Erev Purim Sameach!

Tuesday, December 27, 2016

Chanuka animated cheese

Trust me, that subject line makes sense.

(and it will undoubtedly make for interesting search engine results)

(note Llama mimicking every. single. video. of her and her sister when they were small, when each video ended with "wanna see video!" or some such)

Saturday, December 24, 2016

Monday, November 14, 2016

milestone #16280


...wait. If I didn't take a picture, does it count?

Wednesday, November 09, 2016

Let America Be America Again

Let America Be America Again
Langston Hughes, 1902 - 1967

Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.

(America never was America to me.)

Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed—
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.

(It never was America to me.)

O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.

(There’s never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this “homeland of the free.”)

Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark? 
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery’s scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek—
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.

I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one’s own greed!

I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean—
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today—O, Pioneers!
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.

Yet I’m the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That’s made America the land it has become.
O, I’m the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home—
For I’m the one who left dark Ireland’s shore,
And Poland’s plain, and England’s grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa’s strand I came
To build a “homeland of the free.”

The free?

Who said the free?  Not me?
Surely not me?  The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we’ve dreamed
And all the songs we’ve sung
And all the hopes we’ve held
And all the flags we’ve hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay—
Except the dream that’s almost dead today.

O, let America be America again—
The land that never has been yet—
And yet must be—the land where every man is free.
The land that’s mine—the poor man’s, Indian’s, Negro’s, ME—
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.

Sure, call me any ugly name you choose—
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people’s lives,
We must take back our land again,

O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath—
America will be!

Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain—
All, all the stretch of these great green states—
And make America again!

From The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes, published by Alfred A. Knopf, Inc. Copyright © 1994 the Estate of Langston Hughes. 

Why? Why? Why?

"Yoav!," says I, having sent Her Highness The Elder to get. in. bed, "Remember when the girls were like two and kept asking why? why? why? all the time?"

"Yeah," he says.

"They're still doing it! They're just using bigger words!"

"Um yeah," he replies, "because their brains are still working. Which is a GOOD thing!"

"I know, I know," I mutter. "But much like when they were two, I wish all that curiosity came with an off-switch around bedtime!"

Sroch, by the way, had trouble going to bed because she wanted to stay up for the election returns.

Yawn. I understand you, kid. I understand you.