Right from the beginning Bob announced that a good Israeli husband helps his wife. I see a lot of men sponga. I can sponga. I will help you with the sponga. He has since mastered the fine art of sponga. (read: my tiles, inside and outside, sparkle).
There are husbands picking up groceries. Sometimes with a wagon load of kids. Husbands carpool. I don't know how many of them sponga but mine does! They take their kids to the doctor. When Becky was sick, just after Rachel was born, I brought both of them to the doctor. He asked me, in a most disapproving voice, “Where is your husband?” I mumbled something about how he’d stayed up all night with the sick child and how he has a flight to America in a few hours. The doctor just shook his head. “Pssshhhh.”
There was a dad ahead of me today when I took Rachel to the kupat cholim for her well check. As he bent down to strap his newborn into the carseat I noticed his gun and wondered what he does with it when he visits Bituach Leumi.
Neshek?
Ken!
Do they keep the gun for you? Do you get a little claim receipt?
Déjà vu, a question, and an answer
Today I was speaking to a receptionist on the phone and when she asked where I live I answered her in Hebrew.
Zeghrubavel Aghrba
Ma? (what?)
Zeghrubavel Aghrba
Ma? I don’t know anything what you are saying!
I’ll say it in English – Zerubavel. Number four.
AHH! ZeghrubaVEL.
I have variations of this conversation all the time so I knew exactly what Rosie meant when she asked me tonight, “Does my voice speak like Hebrew?” Before I could answer her she started talking about a par par (butterfly). Only she was calling it a paghr paghr.
Yes, yes, yes. Rosie’s voice speaks like Hebrew!
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