Off to Venice with a stroller,
You and me and baby daughter,
Rowing down the Athabasca
A baby son tucked in your Parka.

You nursed each child for twelve months straight.
And all the time watched what I ate.
You made me drink strange green concoctions
“It might taste bad, but it’s not rotten.”

When fevers reached high Fahrenheit,
You cradled them throughout the night.
Wobbling weary on your feet,
Too worried to go back to sleep.

When it was time to toilet train,
You sent them out in shine or rain,
“You should follow with a bag,
If they crap, just scoop, don’t gag.”

Since the children had no faults,
You ignored star-test results.
“Practice piano every day.
“Homework?.. Naw, go out to play.”

“Geometry and long division,
Multiplying with precision,
Need results percentage-wise?
Shift the point not once but twice.”

“Appealing to the intellect?
Languages are your best bet.
Hebrew, Spanish, French, and English,
It’s not too late to pick up Yiddish.”

There’s a world that’s rich with knowledge
You helped each one to pick their college
UCLA and NYU, UChicago, HUJI too
“I am here and there with you.”

Musicals, and Broadway specials,
You took each child based on their schedules.
Democracy by Hamilton,
Mormon Books for everyone.

“If it is cancer that we see,
Let’s do a drive-through hysterectomy.
You can pick me up at eight,
Take my car, and don’t be late.”

Now, you are the matriarch of ten.
A mother and grandmother hen,
Forty years in seventh heaven,
I’m glad to be number eleven.