A Penny saved is a Penny earned. I shamelessly collect spare Agerot (pretty much the Israeli equivalent of a Penny), even if that means taking out the little old Russian Grannies on the street for them. They are meticulously pocketed and saved up for when they are next needed. (Read: for the next Family Card Game.)
If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all. Everyones Mother, mine included said this to them, sometimes on a daily basis. I honestly really believe in this. I unfortunately have to deal with people who believe the exact opposite and tend to have a comment for anything and everything to the point where I have had to slightly amend this one. It now reads, If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all... Until you are in the privacy of your own home. Then feel free to slam pots and pans, binge on chocolate and let out all of your pent up frustrations on your husband in the form of colorful 4 letter words that would make even the roughest Hell's Angel blush and ride his Harley to the nearest Confessional. Disclaimer for the Hubbies: It is best in this situation to duck and cover. Do not try to fix it. Do not try to understand it. Certainly do not take the other persons side, no matter HOW colorful or "wrong" the insults. The level of "correctness" in this situation DOES NOT matter and SHOULD DEFINITELY NOT be pointed out. This could result in severe bodily harm. Best to just nod periodically and agree in short ambiguous sentences. Better yet, just break out the Ben & Jerry's and a large spoon and then slowly back away.
Curiosity killed the cat. I am the most curious nosy person I know. Therefore I have decided to take this in the most literal sense. I warn my cats every day not to be sticking their noses in places they shouldn't ie: the toilet bowl, my cereal bowl (particularly not right after the toilet bowl), the dresser drawers (Ziva repeatedly gets shut in the baby's dresser by accident), the fan, the list goes on. I figure its safer in the more literal sense. You can't be too careful:)
Don't count your Chickens before they hatch. I have no chickens. Hence no counting.
Never cry over spilled milk. To most its as old as time. The past is the past, get over it right? Well to us breastfeeding Mum's this takes on a whole new meaning. Milk is hard earned, liquid gold. Hungry tummies demand it. Its perfection that we have earned and sometimes fought hard for. We selflessly hook ourselves up to machines for hours a day sometimes to save away save away, our freezers full of bags upon bags of our hard work. Well that a pack of hot dogs, and half a bottle of vodka. I found out the other day how hard this particular Idiom is to uphold. Another night at the in-laws, Lord love them. I had pumped a bottle because my MIL has a deeply ingrained need to feed the baby, so I indulge sometimes for the sake of family harmony. I bring milk in travel bottles with lids that heat up easily and then transfer it into the baby bottles that she keeps at her house. The particular baby bottles we use come apart into a base, a little rubber seal for the base that lets in a little bit of air (to prevent gas, not relevant really to the story) the bottle (open at top and bottom, definitely relevant to story), then the nipple and the ring that screws the nipple onto the bottle. This particular time, while I was heating up the water to heat the milk in, I noticed the bottle looked a little scummy so I took it apart to do a second cleaning and then left it beside the sink to dry while the milk heated. A few minutes later my MIL goes into the kitchen and I follow a few seconds later to supervise bottle prep. I come around the corner just in time to see a WHOOSH of milky white goodness being poured down the sink. My first thought was that she had for some reason decided the milk was bad and had disposed of it down the sink, something that for a few seconds turned me into a borderline psychotic ready to rip her from limb to limb. After a few seconds of clarity, I looked again to see that she had neglected to put the base and the rubber seal on the bottom of the bottle, opting instead to pour the milk into the open end at the top and then out the open end of the bottom. Somehow she didn't notice the spillage until all 6 oz were down the drain and I was collapsed against the wall in pale faced horror. Needless to say, I excused myself to the bathroom where no less than a few "please don't let me kill her" tears were shed and baby got boobie after all, a win in his book.
And lastly for now, When life hands you lemons, make Lemonade. I try to be positive, really I do, for the most part I'm a stick to it, grit your teeth, push forward, find the light at the end and keep going till you get there kind of girl. Lately my husband and I have had a really rough run of bad luck, really really. No need to go into much detail but lets just say we've had lemons by the bushel. In the end, I have to remember that we are both healthy, we still love each other very much (most of the time) and we have an absolutely perfect happy little boy, we could have it much worse. I have learned that sometimes you have so many Lemons, you need to make Lemonade, and then Lemon Pie, and Lemon cookies, and Lemon Chicken, and Lemon Pickle and Hollandaise. Even then, sometimes you still have some left over Lemons. Thats when I say screw it and grab the Tequila ;).
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