Sunday's child

Sunday’s child knows what’s coming,
Monday’s child starts the week running.
Tuesday’s child is tied up in knots,
While Wednesday’s on schedule but sort of forgot
That Thursday’s needs help with a major display
That’s in shambles and can’t be put off ’til Friday—

While the Sabbath’s child (it would be understood)
Is blithe and bonny, gay and good.
He’s the king of the couplets, the crown of the rhyme,
The nursery’s champion; a child sublime.
He is always well-mannered, cheerful and meek,
For he dumps all his flaws on the rest of the week.


In a single word: בדיבור אחד

Come home early from work. Dance under the stars at midnight. Eat ice cream. Watch a movie. Play hide and seek with the cousins. Laugh until your ribs hurt. Go to synagogue. Play with the cat. Sleep and sleep and sleep some more.

They all sound so different, but when I listen to what everyone is doing tonight, I only hear one word, really.