The advent of a wedding creates a whirlwind of excitement. After months of careful planning and preparation, not to mention stress and anxiety, the wedding flies by in the blink of an eye. A flurry of friends and relatives celebrate with the happy couple for hours on end. As the final dance winds down and tables are cleared, the chassan and kallah bid their guests adieu. The young couple, flying high on the stream of good wishes, feels ready to face the world. Having already discussed their hashkofos, chosen their future home, and settled on where they will spend their first Yom Tov, they feel like they are ahead of the game. They don’t realize that their first real-life dilemma is less than 24 hours away.
The next night, at sheva brachos, the chassan, who is still naïve as to the challenges of marriage, finds himself in need of the salt. The salt, which is at the other end of the table, is conveniently situated in front of his new mother-in-law. Not thinking anything of it, he leans forward, turns his head in her direction, and issues the seemingly simply request, “Could you please pass the salt?” Unfortunately, due to the distance between them, combined with the noise in the room, Mrs. Mother-in-Law doesn’t hear him. This leaves him in a bit of a predicament. Hoping that raising his voice a notch will do the trick, he again requests the salt. Nothing. Not even a turn of the head. Now he’s really in a quandary. He leans over to his beautiful Kallah and whispers, “Could you please ask your mother to pass the salt?”
In addition to looking at him like he’s crazy she responds, just a little too loudly, “You want me to ask my mother to pass the salt?” Of course, this is just the right volume required for everyone seated at the table to turn their heads. As the salt gets passed his way and the chassan slinks down in his chair, all the married couples shake their heads in sympathy realizing that the “name game” has just begun.
It isn’t until they are on their way home that his kallah receives an explanation for her husband’s inability to ask for the salt.
“You don’t know what to call my mother?” she says in an exasperated voice. “How about Ma or Mommy?”
“Nope, my mother will be insulted. Though, I wouldn’t mind shviger or Mrs. Cohen.”
“Absolutely not. My mother would die. It makes her sound ancient. After all, I am her first married child,” she replies vigorously.
“Well, what did you call my parents?” Mr. Chassan asks.
“Actually, I didn’t call them anything,” she admits, a little sheepishly.
“What do you mean, you didn’t call them anything?” he says, with a touch of bewilderment in his voice.
“I just didn’t,” she repeats. “It’s not that I don’t like your parents. I adore them. I just can’t see myself addressing them ‘Mommy’ and ‘Daddy,’ which is what they want me to call them.”
“Wow, this is unbelievable,” he responds, sounding slightly panic stricken. “What are we going to do? Do you think it’s possible to avoid speaking directly to each other’s parents for the next few years without them noticing?”
“Really, I don’t think it’s that serious,” she replies. “Here’s what I think we should do. Let’s just figure out a way that we won’t ever be alone with each other’s parents until we have kids. Then we’ll just call everybody Bubby and Zaidy.”
“You’re a genius,” he shouts enthusiastically. “Consider it done. Maybe until then, we can make sure to have two salt shakers on every table. You know, just in case.”
With the in-law name obstacle down, the happy couple continues to brave new challenges together. It isn’t long before, one fateful day, they are faced with yet another dilemma for which they are ill-prepared. While putting away the Shabbos leftovers, they are forced to face the grim reality. Despite being the proud owners of an assortment of Tupperware containers consisting of multiple shapes, sizes, and colors, there is not a single matching container and lid among them. This syndrome, commonly referred to as the Tupperware Trauma, is one that every family must eventually come to terms with.
We all know that many families have a system. When you first get married, you innocently designate red for fleishig and blue for milchig. The trouble starts when you start buying prepared foods at the local shops and eateries. Not wanting to waste a good container, you wash it and save it. Unfortunately, since all the containers are clear, this not only begins to blur your color-coded system but also leads to confusion as to which team these new, clear containers belong to. This of course, requires you to invest in those little stickers that supposedly make our lives easier. Now, if you are fortunate to be able to keep track of the sheet after using one or two of the stickers, you won’t have to do what I do – buy them every time you go shopping. Either way, please realize that, although these stickers give you the feeling that you are back in control of the situation, you are not.
Things go from bad to worse when you begin having children, at least when it comes to Tupperware-tracking. Well-meaning friends quickly sign up to bring over carefully-prepared meals. These meals are whisked into the kitchen by even more well-meaning relatives who quickly put the food away. It isn’t until you come downstairs for dinner that you realize someone has innocently sent over some food in a Tupperware that has a green lid. Unfortunately, since no one was able to find the appropriate sticker for it, it is currently in no-man’s land. As if giving birth and having a household full of relatives isn’t enough, you now find yourself descending into the Tupperware black hole. Please note, you don’t have to face this on your own. Now that you have kids, you can call Bubby and Zaidy to help navigate the situation.
As a family grows, parents find themselves faced with many financial responsibilities. Clothing, toys, and camp are part of the package deal that come with raising our little cutie pies. It’s around the time that your children approach school age that you are faced with the dilemma of “literacy or bankruptcy?” I’m not talking about tuition here. You’ve probably heard that Jews are often referred as “People of the Book.” It’s pretty clear that whoever coined this expression did not mean “People of the Library Book.” I am quite sure that anyone who is privy to the exorbitant amount of money a family with young children pays toward library fines can attest to this. Unfortunately, as time passes and your children become more literate, you find there is almost a snowball effect occurring. What used to be an occasional fine for a library book has now turned into a competition with the national deficit, not to mention your tuition bill. Unless you aspire to having a plaque with your name displayed on a new wing of the library, you just might have to turn to your children and say, “We can’t afford to go to the library anymore. But if we ever win the lottery, that’ll be the first trip we take.”
With fortitude and determination, these issues get resolved in due time. Before you know it, your little ones will grow up. Just remember, when you’re asked to “pass the salt,” make sure you’re paying attention.
