It’s February. Danish is going to be a whole year old. It is also her mommy’s birthday. These are the good things.
February is also when I had my pregnancy losses and Husband #1 experienced the tremendous loss of his father. I am convinced that little things that have happened over the past two years have been signs from his dad, just letting us know that he knows what is going on. Some people believe in these things, some people do not. I will choose to believe them. And how about this sign: Husband #1 walked into Judaica House to pick up his suits that were checked for shatnez. On the counter was a pile of the sheva brachot book that was edited by his father. Apparently, someone had requested them because people are always asking for them. Husband #1 told the new owner that his dad’s yahrzeit is this month. What are the chances? It was definitely a sign from his dad, and I hope that it brought Husband #1 some comfort.
And now onto a more typical Husband #1 story….
I am convinced that these things happen to my dear spouse just to give me material for this column. This past weekend we went to Baltimore for a family celebration. That whole experience was column-worthy, but that is not for this week. Driving to Baltimore, we had Strudel and, for the sake of this column, someone we will call Son #4. Son #4 has driven all three of my oreos to and from too many places to mention over the years, so we were so happy to take him somewhere. And now Strudel is totally in love with him. The whole ride she was giving him her bunny and yonibear (which is a panda bear that she stole with permission from a young man named Yoni). And then, after visiting my sister, Strudel acquired a Fisher Price schoolbus, and she named the driver after Son #4. Adorable.
Fast forward to Saturday night (or motzei shabbos, as my precious oreos call it) and it is just Husband #1 and me in the car. He decided to stop for gas. We pull up and I am scrolling on my phone, not paying any attention to what was going on. Once Husband #1 put his winter hat on, I wasn’t as nervous, so all was good for the time being. A few minutes go by, and I hear a splash and an “OH NO!!!!!” I get out of the car and Husband #1 is now drenched in gasoline. Technically, he was drenched from the knees down. Why, you ask? Well, the machine stopped when there were still 75 cents left and Husband #1 needed those last 75 cents worth of gas in the car. So to make a short story long, he tried to start the process over again and pulled the hose thingy out of the car and 75 cents worth of gasoline splashed all over the bottom of his pants. And on the ground around him, which, of course he kept stepping in in his nice shoes (nice, of course, is all relative. His 20-year-old shoes from Nordstroms are his “nice” shoes).
“You are not getting back in this car until you change your pants,” I lovingly said to him. Do you see where all of this is going? We still had two and a half hours back to New Jersey. It smelled so bad in the car that we had to drive with the windows open. It was not warm outside. And I spent the rest of the trip Googling “How to get gasoline out of your pants.” Because these were Husband #1’s favorite pants. Don’t ask.
We finally get home, frozen from the open windows, and I begin the process of cleaning the pants. Step 1: Fill a sink with hot water and Dawn dishwashing liquid. Place pants inside sink and mix with a spoon. I then left said pants outside overnight. Step 2: If the pants still smell (yes, they do) make a paste of vinegar and baking soda and brush onto the pants. OK, I did that. Step 3: Fortunately it was optional, because it involved ammonia, and I was afraid I would blow the house up. As I write this, we are at Step 4: Wash the pants with detergent and spray and wash. I have done this twice, the pants still smell, and they are currently drying in front of the house because, according to Google, I am never allowed to put these pants in the dryer again.
How many of you agree that I should just throw the stupid pants out and get Husband #1 a new pair??????????? Yes, I am with you.
Hope this made you forget about the real world for a few moments…
Banji Ganchrow of Teaneck knows that very deep down, her spouse appreciates everything she does for him.