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The Frazzled Housewife

Sisters

Good morning! I have written this column from many exotic locations. Let’s see, there was the parking lot in Morristown, after going to see a movie, when Husband #1 needed to catch an evening prayer service. Then there was the parking lot in Detroit, when Husband #1 and his merry band of pre-Oreos needed to catch an afternoon prayer service. The parking lot in Bnai Brak after the Coca Cola tour in Israel…yes, there is a trend. Don’t worry, when I am sitting in a parking lot in an actual exotic location, I will be sure to let you know.

Currently, I am not in a parking lot. I am in an empty lunchroom, which will soon be filled with hundreds of young men who learn in Shar Yashuv. Shar Yashuv, for those who don’t know, is a yeshiva in Far Rockaway, where Son #1 learns. When I joke around about what my son does for a living, I often call his yeshiva Morgan Stanley. This is because he takes his job learning at yeshiva just as seriously as if he were working … well … you get it. (I hope you get it or none of that makes any sense.)

In any event, with tremendous hakarat hatov, and gratitude to God, I am here to hear the naming of Son #1’s daughter Number 3. God has a sense of humor. Husband #1 and I built a home on baseballs and Legos, hockey sticks and toilet seats that were left up, and now we have, bli ayin harah, five granddaughters.

This is ironic for many reasons. Yes, I am going to write about my dad again. A few weeks ago, we went to pay a shiva call to someone who had lost their father. The brother was saying how his daughter had a boy and the bris was right after shiva. Then he started to say about how his father was going to have a name right away and what it says in the gemarah about that and I say, “Let me stop you right there.”

I get very defensive about my dad. He was the best. Please don’t tell me that he doesn’t have a name yet because of whatever it says in the gemarah or anywhere else, thank you very much. Listen, you all knew I was nuts, so my reaction shouldn’t really surprise you. My father-in-law doesn’t have a name yet either. So, what is the reason? I have no idea.

Are they not ready yet? Do they enjoy watching their precious grandsons raise daughters? I told Son #1 that the reason he has daughters (so far, God willing) is because my dad wants him to have girls who love him as much as I loved my dad. Does that make sense? Well, it makes sense to me, so I am just going with that.

So here I am, sitting in this lunchroom before venturing upstairs to the women’s section to hear what my next “baked good’s” name is going to be. Since Strudel and Danish are still the only ones with official pseudonyms in this column, many people have asked what I will be calling the other ones. Apparently, some people don’t find it annoying! And I still haven’t figured it out. But, to my friend who suggested “napoleon,” I don’t think I will be going in that direction.

With two older sisters, truthfully, I was thinking of calling this one Wonder Woman, because she will need super powers to defend herself from her sisters. Don’t worry, I am not really going to call her that. All my girls are wonder women — my daughters-in-law, their daughters. I know how blessed I am, and I don’t take that for granted. And Wonder Woman wore magical bracelets, and I am a big fan of jewelry because it always fits.

So I would like to use this column to wish Son #1 and DIL #1 a tremendous mazal tov on the birth of their princess. May she and her sisters give you only nachas and may you all be blessed with only good health and simcha. Babka and Papa love you all very much.

Wishing all of my readers the very same.

Banji Ganchrow of Teaneck remembered to bring something to cover her hair while in yeshiva. No, my dear Oreos, it is still not a sheital….

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