Help…I’m trapped in a house full of spinning dreidels and an almost eight-year old who won’t stop singing “Domo Arigato Mister Roboto”…it’s a fave on Rock Band at her friends’ house and she brought it home like a germ.
I am not kvetching. The first Monday morning of winter break is hell on working moms, and I am grateful my kidlets had a fun, fudge-filled home to chill in today. (St. Claire Mars, you are an angel!) But El Yenta Man now has the virus, standing over me fronting his white man robot moves and chanting “I’m Kilroy…Kilroy…”
I was going to post the STYX video so would have a little taste of Yentariffic pre-Chanukah chaos, but I value your readership too much. Let my restraint serve as my gift to you, dahlinks.
(Savannah-specific segue: Did anyone attend the STYX show at the Civic Center last week? Anyone? Yeah, I’m guessing there’s not a whole lotta crossover between yentas and legendary 80s bands. But if you do happen to rock out to “Renegade” and bliss out to “Lady,” then my colleague Bill Deyoung’s interview in this week’s Connect is a must-read.)
Actually, as far as holiday madness goes, we’re a circus rather than an asylum. The menorahs are lined up in the window, the extra bottle of canola oil secured in the pantry, the presents bought (but not wrapped. I did remember paper this year, though on a few nights we will be utilizing the eco-friendly but hideously ugly cloth bags I sewed them last year in a fit of frugal craftiness.)
The kids had very reasonable requests for Chanukah (yes, I spell it with the glottal “Chhhhh” and one “k” because I just do; you can spell it however you like) this year; no actual robots, rodents, reptiles or motorized vehicles, which is a real relief.
Perhaps it’s because I read them “A Horse for Hanukkah,” Myriam Halberstam’s cautionary tale of a gift gone wild. I got a review copy, and maybe the message of “be careful what you wish for” got under their little keppes:
Hannah gets the pet she’s always wanted for the first night of Chanukah, a Yiddish-neighing mare named Golda. This would be fabulous for Jewish farmers, but Hannah’s family lives in an apartment with only one bathroom. Hilarity ensues as Golda trashes the living room, scarfs all the latkes and sets her own tail on fire with the menorah. Makes our house look like the picture of wholesome Jewish American living.
Though the book is targeted at kids younger than mine, everyone here still thinks poop is hilarious, so Golda’s stanky little gift in Hannah’s bedroom on night five found an appreciative audience. Nancy Cote’s richly colored illustrations are sweet; there are lots of little lessons embedded in the story and a cute little twist at the end. A nice addition to the holiday library for the six-and-under set. Get it here.
There’s even a takeaway for the grown-ups: Even if you’re mired in the stress of the season, at least there’s not horsehockey next to your bed.
Chappy almost-Chanukah. And just because I love y’all, here’s some Styx after all, ’cause these are the best of times, friends: