
Photo: Edna Kichka
Drenched in joy
Steeped in love
Charm us all
With delight!
For The Daily Post

Photo: Osnat Halperin-Barlev
Irresistible
To poke a stick
In
Prepossessing
Pond of mud
There is little
More delightful
Than puddle frolic
To be had.
For The Daily Post

Photo: Inbar Asif
He didn’t want to have his dinner.
Only dessert.
“I’m kind of allergic to the salad,” he proclaimed.
“And the stew?”
“That, too.”
For The Daily Post

Photo: Pinterest
“It’s a zoo over there!”
She exclaimed. Out of breath.
Cheeks still red from the stairs
And the cold evening air.
“It’s a zoo in the store.
It’s a zoo in the park.
It’s a zoo … at the zoo,”
Her smile grew.
She cracked up.
Couldn’t stop.
Her delight
Only matched
By the first time she ‘got’
“Slipped my mind” meant forgot.
For The Daily Post

Photo: Smadar Halperin-Epshtein
If the distance’s too far
And the winning too tempting
There is always the tummy
To improve odds
Of aiming.

Photo: Atara Katz
He shook his head
At jam and bread
Objected to any other
Kind of spread
And lectured mommy
From his seat
That cookie’s the only
Thing to eat.
For The Daily Post

Photo: AMDB7 on Flickr
She doesn’t know who her mom is. She was left as a newborn, wrapped in a piece of old bedsheet, under a pew in the church. Or so the story goes.
She spent her first year in the orphanage. Many mewling mouths and too few holding arms. She found a way to survive.
Halfway into her second year she got picked up, fussed over with odd sounds, carried out of the room that had been her world. It was confusing. It was good. It was a lot.
She has a family now. They love her. They are patient. Most of the time. They try.
She’s a big girl. Almost ten. She understands. Sometimes.
She still can’t help but wonder who she is. What made her undesirable. Why she was left, naked not only of clothes but of clues.
She still can’t help but wonder about the woman who’d had her, then left without a sound. The woman who isn’t even mist and fog of memory and yet she still is tethered to in heart and mind. Her Mystery Mom.
For The Daily Post

Old Fashioned Goulash (Yummly.com)
She hates soup. She hates stew.
She can’t stand beef. Tomatoes, too.
She doesn’t care if it’s tradition.
She doesn’t care it’s grandma’s edition.
To her the concept is just foolish
And your goulash is plain ghoulish.
For The Daily Post

Photo: Ofir Asif
The five-year-old bounded up the stairs. I could hear him giggling. He stopped two steps below the landing and tilted his head at me. A brown curl flopped over one eye and he blew at it.
“When does a duck duck?” he challenged.
I grinned at his giddiness. Language for this child had just began to turn more fun than frustration, and his emerging fascination was delicious. “When?”
He chortled. “When you throw something at it! Because …” he demonstrated, bobbing so deeply that I reached over to grab his shoulder to ensure he didn’t lose his balance on the steep stairs, “duck … like this … is same as … quack quack duck!”
For The Daily Post
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