Monday, 16 March 2020

Born During a Pandemic by Naomi Elana Zener





Those are possibly my names. Those words are what I keep hearing over, and over, and over, and over again. Did my mom and dad even pick a name for me? I wonder. I think I heard them say “Sue” at some point since I first saw the bright light and then lay on a soft, squishy surface. Something called ‘skin-to-skin’. I drink out of a bottle. Maybe, the liquid I’m drinking is Vodka or Corona? Or, both? I see my Mommy and Daddy drinking out of bottles, too.  But, those could also be my names. My name could also be Poo—I hear that word said a lot, too. No one calls me that but they talk a lot about it around me. I don’t like this, poo.

I’ve been on what the big people call “Earth” for the past four weeks, I’m told. They sing a song about how I’m a little baby 1 week old, a lot, but then stop at four weeks and say that is how old I am.  I don’t have any other source of information. So, I guess it’s not fake news. I hear “fake news” a lot, too. Something about how the virus is actually heat resistant, garlic is not a cure, and that anyone who thinks my older brother and sister and their friends are going back to school this year are delusional.  This virus doesn’t sound very good, so I don’t think my name is “virus”.

Someone named Woody has this virus, but my big brother and sister have said Woody is a toy and toys can’t get sick. My big brother hid his Buzz Lightyear toy in the closet to protect him from the virus. I also heard my mommy say that her boyfriend, Idris, has corona so maybe he has a baby named Corona, too? I don’t understand how he can be her boyfriend because my Daddy’s name is John. I’ve heard her say that name loudly a lot since I’ve been on Earth.

My big brother and sister like to hold and kiss me a lot. I hope they don’t have the virus everyone is talking about because they keep kissing me. I’ve heard Mommy say ‘do you want to make her sick?’ after they kiss me. I don’t think I like them very much. I haven’t been here long and they could make me sick? I will have to think about this.

I definitely know my name is not Blantons because Mommy and Daddy keep saying that it’s sold out. They seem upset when they say this. I don’t think my name would make my Mommy and Daddy upset. Also, I know I’m only four weeks old, but I don’t think names get sold out.

I wish my Mommy and Daddy would tell me my name so I’d know who I am. Just say ‘baby, your name is…’ instead of making me guess.  If you ask me, I would rather be called Vodka instead of Corona. When Mommy says Vodka she sounds less panicked. I think I’ll go with Vodka for now.

© 2020. Naomi Elana Zener. All Rights Reserved.

Thursday, 27 February 2020

Ode to My Daughter by Naomi Elana Zener

My little baby girl how cute and lovely are you,
But you leave me wondering about the strange things you do.
At first I was amused when you tried to feed from everyone's breast,
Now your lack of discretion is worrisome, please give it a rest!
Your appetite insatiable, your vaccuum mouth pressed to my cheek,
No milk will it yield but of your drool my face now reeks.
With an angelic smile on your middle finger you fervently suck,
And while it's cute as a baby, please know it's not a symbol of luck.
We thought it adorable when into your mouth both fists you inserted, 
As an adolescent girl a party trick not to be displayed or blurted! 
Your baby crack pacifier satiates your oral tendency,
Before you grow up you must lose that dependency.
Like a volcanic symphony your bowl erruptions are perplexing,
Finding feces everywhere but your diaper which we find quite vexing.
Lifting your skirt up as cute as it may be,
Is no longer ladylike after the age of three.  
While your smiles and giggles are simply heaven sent,
Understanding your peculiar behaviour leaves me quite spent.

ⓒ 2019. Naomi Elana Zener. All Rights Reserved.

Saturday, 25 January 2020


My home is my castle, stylish and classy,
Eclectic design with a splash of sassy.
Upon announcing that our family was growing,
The news was met with joy and a sense of foreboding.
Shocked as we swore never to procreate,
Friends laughed amused by this twist of fate.
They said "You'll love your child, but your home will never be the same."
“Prepare for messes, wall destruction and furniture mame!”
Thankful for their caution, I vehemently disagreed,
For our child will be raised to be well-behaved indeed!
Taught not to touch without first asking permission,
Adults and kids living in symbiosis was our vision.
With our darling munchkin's arrival,
Determined to ensure our adult survival.
Lilliputan-friendly spaces were fostered.
Promising amiable living our lives not to be doctored.
The three of us plodding along in harmonious coexistence.
After time passed did that advice begin to make sense.
Puzzled by how friends used to compliment our taste.
How could they now come in and disrespect our space?
For it was not our child who wreaked havoc and mayhem,
It was their little monsters who were creators of bedlam.
Why is it when kiddies entered the scene,
Our ‘friends’ enabled their children's behaviour so obscene?
Screaming loudly and jumping on my furniture,
Proving a wrestling career only lay in their future.
Without asking they fed their rugrats on our velvet chair,
Spilling their drink and leaving crumbs everywhere!
Dumbfounded I wondered if they'd heard of a plate,
I'd like to lock them up with their kids in my dog's crate!
Taunting our dog resulting in barking like he's in prison,
These little monsters and their procreators caused in us an aneurism!
Touching anything in sight without asking first!
Destroying our belongings my temper about to burst!
Driving us insane without a care in the world,
These parents do not discipline their unruly herd.
‘Do they do this at home?’ I wondered in a moment contemplation.
Surely they must as it's furnished like a third world nation.
Adding insult to injury they talk about their kids non-stop,
Incessant one-sided chatter about them causes my head to pop!
Love your babes but no one wants to hear a narrative play-by-play,
About each fart, ounce of food, spit up and everything they do everyday.
Worse still they inquire nothing about my petite wonder.
My anger is bubbling in my heart I feel the rumble of thunder!
No matter how you choose to live this home is mine, not yours!
Please remove your kids at once for their behaviour I abhor!
Angel faced children only a mother could love,
Ones that were not heaven sent from above.
No longer a fan of other people's children,
My home will they never again be in.
While I admit any child can be messy and overly excited at times,
Outside of your home parents don't enable, make them tow the line.
And when your friend has a child after which you should inquire and don't,
You cannot expect such friendship to last as it won't.
So for now I put our friendship and your kids out to pasture to roam,
Leave my house, learn to reciprocate, but leave your kids at home!

© 2020. Naomi Elana Zener. All Rights Reserved.

Sunday, 22 December 2019

Rockin’ Around the Menorah by Naomi Elana Zener

Rockin' around the Menorah,
At the Chanukah party jam.
Latkes cooking for you to eat,
Chocolate gelt but there’s no ham.

Rockin' around the Menorah,
Let the Chanukah candles shine.
Later we’ll spin the dreidel fast,
And drink Manischevitz wine.

You will start to kvell and feel pride when you hear:
Nun! Gimel! Hey! Shin! I win!
Break out Chanukah tonic and gin!

Rockin' around the Menorah,
Eight days of party fun.
Lots of gifts but there’s no tree,
Or baby Jesus for anyone.

You will start to kvell and feel pride when you hear:
Nun! Gimel! Hey! Shin! I win!
Break out Chanukah tonic and gin!
Rockin' around the Menorah,
Let the Chanukah candles shine.
Later we’ll spin the dreidel fast,
And drink Manischevitz wine!

© 2019. Naomi Elana Zener. All Rights Reserved.

[Author's note: Did you know that some of Christmas’ greatest hit songs were written by Jews, including Johnny Mark’s Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree. In honour of Chanukah, here’s a little parody for you to enjoy! Happy Chanukah!]