Just before the boiling water hits

We’re so frum, we kasher our toothbrushes between dairy and meat.

Har har. Actually, Ella had strep and the doctor suggested we boil the toothbrushes. But we do keep a kosher kitchen. At least, we consider it kosher. Most of the friends I know from my yeshiva days would not eat in our house. We do buy only kosher meat, and we do keep separate dishes and utensils for meat and milk. To me, that’s pretty darn kosher.
However, there’s an even longer list of things we do not do. We do not make sure that every food we buy has been certified kosher with a hechsher. We do not run our meat and milk dishes through separate cycles of the dishwasher. We do not dip our new utensils in a ritual bath (yes, Virginia, there really is a mikveh just for dishes!) We do not wait six hours to eat an ice cream cone after a bowl of chicken soup. Maybe only long enough to clear the plates. I could go on, and on, and on.
And then there’s my husband. Who is not Jewish. Who has his own little set of dishes, a frying pan, and free-access to the outdoor grill so that he can have his occasional trayf fix. And he gets to eat it, right at the very same table!
It’s pretty crazy, I know, and quite honestly, I’m not always sure why I bother. But that’s the great thing about homeshuling. It really only has to be ok for the people who live in my home.
Shabbat Shalom!

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