Posted by Mrs. Shoshana F
Being as it is the week before Passover, I barely have time to get the house ready, let alone write a lot of posts on this blog. So in the spirit of that, today’s post will be a short homage to the newbees. Those who will be hosting seder at their home for the first time.
My husband and I are really looking forward to opening our home to friends and family. This year it is our seder, our rules. It’s awesome.
We’re having seven - of course, our dining room table can comfortably accommodate six for a meal. We figure some card chairs will allow everyone top enjoy the meal at one table â no âkids tableâ for us! Our kitchen table will double as a buffet and all guests were told to come casual. It is bad enough having to eat matzah for eight days—no one should have to wear heels or a suit all night if they don’t want to.
Yesterday, I went to the party store for throwaway plates and bowls and plastic tablecloths. Amazingly enough â Party City does NOT have a Passover aisle. Although, if I wanted to have a Hawaiian or Vegas-themed seder, I could have gone that route.
To keep it nice, we’re using real silverware and glasses (I figure we should get some use out of those beautiful wedding gifts I was finally able to put away).
We’ll have a stellar menu: salad, cold egg soup, brisket, potato kugel, pineapple kugel, veggies, macaroons, candied matzah and fruit. Plus a lot of wine, some fun songs and a seder plate with room for an orange.
I managed to spend more than $100 on Pesach food â and that didnât include the entrÃ©e that my grandmother is making. How can matzah be so expensive? It is flour and water. I can buy glue for under $1.
The cooking begins tonight. Provided all goes as planned, this evening our table will be set, our dessert will be ready and most of our lightbulbs will be replaced.
I donât expect too much from the evening. Just family and friends eating, talking and throwing around some plastic frogs. Sounds like a perfect night!
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April 10, 2008 | 4:35 pm
Posted by Mrs. Shoshana F
There is a great truth about yours truly: I don’t get sick often, but when I do—watch out! My husband and I have been together for two and a half year and he had yet to see me ever become really ill. He got his chance last Sunday.
I woke up at 2 a.m. with an awful stomach ache, which by 10 a.m. had manifested itself into a full-blown stomach flu. My husband, half-awake when my aches and pains began, offered to go out and get me anything I wanted at 7-11. I was in such pain that I had to sign the letters C-V-S to him (it took him a few minutes to figure out that I wasn’t signing “I love you”).
So his first trip out he came back with Pepto-Bismol and a Sprite Zero. I took two sips of the Sprite and a swig of the Pepto, hoping it would help with the nausea. It didn’t.
He felt so helpless, as did I. I told him not to worry. He said it was his job. That I always took care of him and now he could take care of me.
I just don’t get sick. I’ve never broken a bone and the last time I was in the hospital I was 7. The worst that has happened to me were years of ear infections, which led to my parents deciding to put tubes in my ears.
I picked up my cell phone and handed it to my husband: “Call Dad.”
My father, 2,000 miles away always seemed to know what to do. My father was teaching Hebrew school that morning, so my husband left a message.
Then I said: “Call Bubbe.” The queen of taking care of people asked my husband what my temperature was—my husband, of course, put it palm up to my forehead. I looked at him and said: “Honey, other side.”
We didn’t have a thermometer—or if we did it would have taken months to find. My husband said he would go out and get one, but before he could leave, the phone rang again. Dad had called back.
“Are you achey?” he asked.
“I’ve never felt this bad in my life,” I told him.
“You should take some Motrin,” he told me.
Here’s the problem. I don’t take pills. I can’t take pills. When I was younger, I would hide the yucky chalk-covered pills needed to help my ear infections. When we moved, there were seven under the couch. Any kind of medicine I take needs to be in liquid form—and flavor is important, too.
So my husband left the house one more time (as I tried—and failed—to get back to sleep) and returned with a digital thermometer and some children’s Motrin (grape flavored).
Turns out I had a slight fever. It wasn’t bad—but it was enough to give me hot flashes over the next few hours.
I looked on the side of the package of the Motrin and it said “better if taken with food.” So, my husband brought me some applesauce—and ordered me to take my medicine. It wasn’t that bad—I just had to double the dosage.
By the end of the night, and after sleeping on and off for the next six hours and being able to keep down the oatmeal my husband brought to me on a TV tray, I felt so much better.
At one point I managed to walk to the living room and saw my him collapsed on the couch—face down—with the TV on. I decided not to wake him. I must be a harder patient to care for than I thought.
I might not get sick very often, but I know that when I do, the sweetest nurse in the world will be there to help me—with help from Dr. Dad and Dr. Bubbe.
April 7, 2008 | 6:20 pm
Posted by Mrs. Shoshana F
How much time do I waste a week cleaning up after my adorable but messy husband? Reuters says seven:
“For married women who can’t figure out why they always have so much housework researchers may have the answer—husbands.
A new study from the shows that having a husband creates an extra seven hours of extra housework a week for women. But a wife saves her husband from an hour of chores around the house each week.”
I’m pretty sure the story isn’t that far off. Several times this weekend I came into the living room and found a plate or bag and would ask my husband: Is this going to walk itself into the garbage? He would then tell me: I was about to throw it out.
About â in guy speak â can mean anywhere from one minute to seven hours.
Granted, I have my messy moments, too—but they are far less frequent (probably because of that whole female nesting thing).
So, how much of your week is spent cleaning up after each other?
April 4, 2008 | 3:27 pm
Posted by Mrs. Shoshana F
This will be a short post today â Iâm in the middle of taxes.
I canât stand tax time!
Not a big shock. Most people equate doing taxes with getting a root canal.
This is the first year my husband and I are filing jointly. It will also be the first time he will be filing online (Iâve been using that method for years, it makes life so much easier).
We have all the needed paperwork â so I canât imagine it will take longer than an hour or two â it is just the idea of it. Taxes. The word even sounds painful.
At least the government can make it enjoyable: OK, I owe X amount. Iâd like to put it all toward keeping arts education in public schools.
Or for everyone who turns in their taxes on time, you get tickets to the movies or a Starbucks card.
My idea: Since everything money wise is connected by our Social Security numbers, I donât understand why the IRS and the Social Security Administration canât get their spreadsheets and link them together. That way, they would know what everyoneâs taxes were.
I suggest the government do what the cruise ships do: At the end of your trip you get a statement, and if you donât agree with it, you can go to the purserâs desk. If you donât agree with what you owe â or what the government owes you â go can submit your taxes, otherwise, you donât have to.
Some people might find this a bit too âbig brother.â
Apparently, some people also have fun at the dentist.