While we will not technically celebrate Purim for a few more days, in our home Purim came early this year as we were blessed with a series of miraculous events that made our holiday preparations non-disastrous and dare I say, fun.
The first phenomenon occurred over the weekend. I was planning to make hamantashen with my kids on Sunday, and just after they went to sleep on Saturday night I was hit with a brilliant thought: Make the dough tonight!
This is how hamantashen baking usually goes in my house:
Me: Kids go wash your hands, we’re gonna bake hamantashen!
Kids: Yay!
Me: Ok, let’s measure the ingredients – first we need two cups of flour (argument ensues over who will pour the flour). Great, now we need sugar and margarine and an egg. (Argue, spill, etc.)
Kids: What do we do next mom?
Me: Well, it says here, that we should put the dough in the refrigerator for 2 hours. So, um, I guess, we wait.
The whole waiting 2 hours thing is a total kill-joy, especially since this was my big plan for the afternoon, and now the kids are covered in flour and looking at me expectantly for entertainment. (Baker’s note – skipping the refrigeration step makes the dough too sticky, and of course I could have found a recipe that did not require chilled dough, but the whole point is that I keep using the same high maintenance recipe because I don’t think ahead.)
But this year I remembered to make the dough in advance like a competent, unspontaneous adult. When I called my kids to the kitchen it was with confidence and certainty that we would be successful in our hamantashen endeavor. So what if I forgot to tell them to wash their hands first? I refrigerated the dough, and that’s what heroes do.
So we made chocolate hamantashen. (Eater’s note – when will the other kinds of hamantashen just give up already? I dare you to come up with one good reason for the prune ones to get out of bed in the morning.) Out of 36, a triumphant 6 came out triangular, 12 were circular, 1 was a parallelogram, and the rest were an odd assortment shapes that have yet to be discovered, save one that was a dead ringer for Newt Gingrich.
And if the miracle of the Newt Gingrich Hamantash was not enough, get this: when the baking was complete and the kitchen and everyone in it was thoroughly coated with ingredients, I still liked my children. I was glad I had failed to make good on my threats to abandon them in the backyard because I wanted to spend the rest of the day with them. Mind-Blowing! Motherhood is roses and butterflies – if you disagree you must not be doing it right.
But wait – the miracles continued: I found each of my children the costume of their choice online for under $20.00. This was a wonder in itself, but here’s the gravy – when the costumes arrived weeks later, the children still wanted to be the things they had originally chosen!
During our dress rehearsal Ironman did not get jealous that Spiderman’s eyeholes were actually big enough to see through. Spiderman didn’t care that Stealth Ninja’s costume came with soft throwing stars. And Stealth Ninja did not envy the foam muscles of either Spiderman or Ironman. (Although Stealth Ninja was all too eager to comply when Spiderman begged to be kicked in the foam muscles – apparently the Spiderman costume came with neither spidey sense nor common sense.)
Mother’s note – I would not allow my children guns or swords as props for their costumes. Oddly enough throwing stars were not on my list of unacceptable weapons. My rationale: throwing stars are cool and you know it.
Inevitably Purim itself will fall way short of the hype leading up to it. Costumes are bound to rip, children will probably melt down after consuming inordinate amounts of candy, and Newt Gingrich will likely get eaten and miss the festivities all together. But my memories from the miraculous week leading up to the holiday will remain intact. I ordered the right costumes, I soothed Spiderman’s bruised arm and ego, and I made the dough in advance. I don’t need a costume to tell me that I am Wonder Woman.
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