A PURIM MORNING DIARY

MIRIAM LEVINE

5:45 a.m. The floor is still damp from the quick wash-over it just got. I never was the type to win the “when did you finish your seder?” competition, always coming in very short with a hopeful “I think 1:30, latest a quarter to two.” But the “how late did you get to bed on Purim?” Hmmm. The kitchen is sparkling and my babkes are lined up on the counter, wrapped and beribboned. And I didn’t even get overwhelmed. Okay, okay, maybe only once when the roll of cellophane finished abruptly, in middle of the night, with no prior warning. I mamesh cried, the timely words of keili keili lama azavtanu springing to life. A final hissing touch to starch the sailor’s white pants, scrounging for some stuffing to fill the felt stem of the baby’s strawberry hat and a good night to all. 7:20 a.m. The doorbell? At this hour?!? I yank myself awake to get the door quickly before... too late. They’re up. It’s little Chany David from down the block, freshly curled tresses falling against her whispy bridal gown. She hands me a breakfast platter. Seriously, I didn’t think we had that much shaychus. (As of this minute we for sure don’t anymore.) This couldn’t wait? So her lettuce would wilt a bit. Rather them than me. All the organization in the world and I still can’t avoid the

“tell your mommy we’ll send back later.” 8:15 a.m. The kids just went down to the local grocery to ask for spare egg boxes to store their future goodies. They definitely view themselves as popular. (It may be genetic. I prepared fifty babkes.) I grab the two quiet minutes to bentch and forget Al Hanissim. (Yes. I ate David’s breakfast. Thanks for asking.) 8:50 a.m. My sailor, kallah, pirate and strawberry are all ready. The sailor and pirate are embroiled in a very physical battle. How appropriate. I sidestep them rolling on the floor and go get ready for the 9:15 megillah reading down the block. Maybe if I hear megillah early we will have enough time to deliver mishloach manos to my daughter’s teachers. I would very much like to lay some year-old grudges to rest. 9:20 a.m. I can’t believe I did it again. I missed the first bracha. I hand the children their nosh baggies and am reminded of tekias shofar. There’s a faint sense of déjà vu which I’m not sure stems from the shul and the nosh as much as from the panic that my children will be the ones making THE disturbing noises. Everyone else seems relaxed and calm. I stay until