So they came, with all the chevra -- their strollers
scattered helter-skelter through our living room. (I kept
discreetly wheeling them out to the porch, but they were soon
back, blocking traffic once again).
They came -- the girls in their sweet, Yom Tov dresses,
sashes, shiny patent leather shoes, their soft, sweet curls
and hairbands. The boys -- in suits and vests and ties and
velvet yarmulkas.
The world's most charming five- and three-year-olds (and both
so artistically inclined), had -- within twenty minutes --
turned my desk drawer inside out, unearthed pens, pencils,
felt-tipped markers, scissors, tape, had torn off paper from
my computer printer. Our floors soon looked confetti-
strewn.
Then, still scissors-wielding, they started on our big white
Yom Tov tablecloth. (They're very good about the walls,
though, I'll have you know.)
If I tried to sweep, they'd get upset. Didn't I recognize Art
when I encountered it, to say nothing of appreciating it?
The clock on the wall of our living room, that had more-or-
less survived our own kids' onslaughts, with a few repairs,
only one corner having chipped off and disappeared -- held
out not much longer. (Because they'd brought with them a huge
Bugs Bunny helium balloon -- a heliotrope-colored one. And
Bugs, it seems, escaped their grasp and floated ceilingwards,
from whence he grinned serenely down -- his toothy, goofy,
beatific grin. And when they tried, amid much hilarity, to
prod him back to earth with my long sponga stick, why,
that was when, grin still intact, he collided with the clock -
- which crashed. And smashed.
So they came --
the world's most captivating two-year-old who, by the first
day of Yom Tov, had shlepped all the phones, clocks, irons,
tape recorders from their careful concealment -- and plugged
them in!
the oh-so-fetching four-year-old who dug out all the combs
and hairbrushes, equally well hidden, and was afraid to walk
alone down our long corridor for fear she'd meet a Big White
Cat. Big Bugs Bunny had not miffed her a bit.
They came --
the one who drops toys (not to mention clothespins, hangers,
slippers) from our porch, and who also loves to open doors
and bang them shut again with a big BOOM!
the one who takes rolls of toilet paper for walks around the
house, scatters tissues, table napkins, hairbands, Q- tips,
carrots, like Hansel's trail of breadcrumbs through the
woods; the one who's teething, can't sleep without THE
pacifier and keeps losing it,
the one who systematically pokes out the gold plastic room
divider windows, and who rode my broomstick until it broke
(no more question of sweeping up confetti for that day).
They came, they fought -- over the chairs, the food, the cups-
with-the-straws, the kiddie cars and everything, though there
were so many chairs and so many cups of so many colors, and
so much food, so many kiddie cars and everything.
They came -- with their spills and falls, their whines and
wails, their winsome smiles, their bawls, their giggles,
tantrums and jealousies, their squabbles, laughter, and their
NOISE.
depositing purple popsicles, half melted chocolate wafers;
icky, sticky toffies on the furniture;
crushing crunchy Osem soup nuts, pretzels, Bisli, Bamba
ruthlessly underfoot;
leaving piles of laundry in their wake -- draped over chairs
and table tops and carriages; once-white tights, bibs and
lacy anklets, booties, wooly hats, blankets pink and blue.
They came -- crowding our kitchen countertops with baby food,
with plastic bottles shaped like bears, with cereals;
crowding corners of each room with giant bags of Pampers,
with borrowed cribs, matresses, playpens.
Turning our (relatively) neat and quiet home sweet home into
an absolutely, positively topsy turvy balagan.
So they came, the parents, too -- chattering away a mile-a-
minute, while I swept, and cleaned, and peeled, and cooked,
and served, and cleared, and washed.
Because daughters and daughters-in-law with small kids so
need their rest. And because sons and sons-in-laws love
talking, too.
And so they came. And I went 'round and 'round and 'round
(not that anybody noticed), feeling dizzy, sweeping,
clearing, picking up, and sweeping, clearing, picking up,
and...
*
Hear now my fervent prayer:
First of the year, this heartfelt prayer:
Remember us for Life!
O King! My King! Who does desire Life!
Next year, same time, same folks, same place.
I beg and beg and beg You, please!
Let me say `Shehechiyanu' with grateful-trembling heart,
With joyful-tearful face,
in this same topsy-turvy home!
And seal, please seal, us in the Book of Life.
Noisy, crowded Life!
Pretzel-crunched... confetti-strewn... Life!
spills... falls... smiles... wails...
dizzying... icky-sticky...
topsy-turvy... balagan-y...
LIFE!
