Another sunless day sent us into the kitchen, making more chili pickle.
Gathered around the mixing bowl, my son asked me to sing “The Jewish Song.” About a week ago, for some inexplicable reason, I started singing “Shabbat Shalom” at the prasadam table. Unable to refuse my first born sweetheart, I belted out my liveliest rendition of “Shabbat shalom, HEY! Shabbat shalom, HEY!”
Venumadhava sincerely asked questions about the Jewish people, like when we were going to go to their temple again (the one and only time we went was for my nieces’ naming ceremonies) and “what Deities do they have in the Jewish temple?”.
Jokingly, I told him he should get a Jewish mata. When he laughed and said that yeah, he should, I told him he was stuck with me. But if he wanted, he could marry a Jewish girl.
And what he said next not only surprised but pleased me.
“But does she cook?”
After my laughter subsided, I explained to my son that Jewish girls don’t cook, they eat in restaraunts.
“Oh,” he answered, careful not to touch the trays full of cut chilis in front of him, “that’s not good.”
I didn’t tell him that most girls today don’t learn to cook. I didn’t tell him that if he learns to cook, he can teach his wife. I’ll save that for when he falls in love with a devotee girl.
Homeschooling continues. Today’s highlights: we made dye from our elderberries and did potato block printing with the elderberry dye and acrylic paints on cloth and paper. We made a pictographic list of what we see when it rains–umbrellas, mud and slugs were Venumadhava’s favorites. I now have four beanbags made so we did some beanbag math (if I have 4 beanbags and throw you 3, how many beanbags do I have left?). So far, so fun, at least for me.