Haunted House

"I hate this house. I HATE THIS HOUSE" screamed the Good Daughter, soon-to-be 21 years old, while we were having quality time together over Passover, watching stupid shows like Ripleys Believe It Or Not and Girls of the Playboy Mansion.

We had just heard sounds outside our window, people talking. I peeked my head outside her window and saw - nothing. The lights sometimes flicker on and off.

I mean there ARE some good things about the house - like the fridge that belongs to the landlord, for example. It keeps our food cold, actually. And we finally had ice-cream that stayed frozen rather than watery ice cream than we had for years with our 10 year old now-very-moldy fridge. Having normal ice cream for Passover was like giving the family gold nuggets. They were so happy..

She was generally miserable anyways, I thought. She had made 2 guys miserable by breaking up with them and now someone had just given her the boot which saw ntear-filled tissues all over her bed and floor. I told her no guy is worth crying over more than 48 hours, so she should get all the crying out of the way now.

"All these terrible things are happening to us because OF THIS HOUSE!!"

Sure. They have. I've had soup ladels gone missing, my blue bra, now we can't find our bread knife. Hubby has had next to nothing work since we moved and everyone is horrible to each other.

I'm off to Petra today for an interfaith conference. I've asked the Good Daughter who usually fills in for me in the cooking department if she will make food for the family this weekend.

She was definitely spooked "DON'T RELY ON ME. I'M TOO TIRED TO MAKE FOOD. I'M TIRED OF DOING EVERYTHING FOR THIS FAMILY!"

But Hubby was gentler - "don't worry, we'll figure it all out". He actually is going to get the chef son-in-law to come in for an hour tomorrow to help with the Sabbath cooking.

And meanwhile, I'll be away from this haunted house, leaving my family to bicker and fight over the weekend, while I'll be basking in the sun at Petra, Jordan.