Chesed Makes a Home

I was outside, playing with NBD this Shabbos, when two of my neighbors' daughters stopped by. They stopped to chat, play with the baby, and generally relax while watching all the women stroll down the street, waiting for their husbands to return from shul and for their children to finish playing in the park.

One of the girls shmoozing with me remarked that people keep stopping to inquire as to who I am and welcome me to the neighborhood (as I am new, and I have a very friendly and welcoming neighborhood.) She compared it to people coming to check out my house, which has, besides for new occupants (us), new furniture (since we are new here).

I, then said something to the effect of that in ten years, or even in a year from now, my furniture will no longer be new, and neither will I. But I took it one step further, not wanting these precious and aidel girls to get the wrong opinion of life. I said that it's not the furniture or walls that makes a home, it's what you do with it.

I turned to one of the girls, who's mother runs a chesed program delivering food to new mothers. "Your home is a home of chesed, because your entire family does chesed with it. That's what truly makes a home, not the furniture inside it."

The world is a world built on chesed, kindness. That's what truly builds a family, builds a home, not the stuff contained in it. Most families in my neighborhood espouse that philosophy. Their dining room chairs may have seen better days, but no one can compete with them when it comes to seating as many guests as their table will hold.

I hope to live up to what I said, and to be able to claim in the years to come that it doesn't matter how my furniture looks, but rather what I do with it.

To Iron or Not To Iron

I may have made myself into a domesticate, at least in the fact that I can run a home, but there is one chore that I refuse to do. Ironing.

I detest it. It's one of those things that truly makes me feel like a homebody, who never did anything with her whole life, barefoot, and ironing in the kitchen. Talk about a stereotype.

Israelis are obsessive about their ironing. One of my friends has 5 irons, as each of her 13 children insist on having a perfectly starched and pressed shirt/skirt/pants every day, and she detests ironing almost as much as I do. She's of the opinion that if they want it badly enough, they'll do it themselves.

I've tried. I buy Mr. NMF no-iron-needed shirts, I try to hand wash and hang to dry, but the inevitable task of ironing sometimes comes up. If I was spoiled rotten, I would just send it to the cleaners to be pressed, but I don't have the money to spend so heedlessly.

When one gets married, sometimes household chores don't come easily. Cooking for a family, ironing, laundry for a family, dishes; they all fall into my hands. I don't mind, I was single enough that I did it all for myself for a long time. Just, there were chores then that I hated, and I still detest now.

I don't know how to get over my bad opinion of ironing. But, at least I'm not alone. Most of the women I know don't iron, or iron only when forced, and then in large bunches of 20 shirts at a time. It seems that if the shirts just keep on collecting, our guilty consciences will eventually encourage us to pick up that tool and start the torture.

Anyone else have chores they hate doing? How do you deal with it?