Hosting the Passover seder

Selective memory can be a beautiful thing.

First-night seder is an involved event -- ritual foods eaten during a prescribed course of blessings, actions, readings and the retelling of the Jews' flight from slavery in Egypt, along with an elegant four-course meal that's followed by more blessings, more readings and a lot of singing.

Not only does the food need to be kosher, but kosher for Passover, meaning nothing with leavening or grain that ferments.

We've hosted first-night seder before and know what a big undertaking it can be, even when your guests are bringing most of the meal.

I also suscribe to the philosophy that you can always fit a few more guests around your table.

So I didn't flinch when our Passover guest list grew to 19. No problem. We already planned to borrow our friends' low-to-the-floor 8-foot by 4-foot gaming table so we could recline during the seder. Factor in our dining room table for guests who couldn't sit on the floor and there would be plenty of room.

But two tables meant two seder plates, two sets of serving dishes and 16 (3 guests didn't show) small plates for the requisite seder foods. By the time our soup course was finished, my dishwasher was full.

The main entree was served buffet-style from the kitchen; dessert from the dining room built-in. Both required 16 more plates, 16 sets of silverware, 16 water glasses, 16 wine or juice glasses, and water pitchers for each table, not to mention the stockpot for matzoh ball soup and other pots and pans used to heat the food our guests brought.

First-night seder equates to a ton of dishes -- three dishwasher loads, four-plus dish drainers full of the delicate or bulky items that don't go in the dishwasher. A day-and-a-half after the festive meal, I finally am done doing dishes.

As I put my recipes and cookbooks away, I found a list of past seder menus. I actually hosted two consecutive seders -- in 2006 and 2007. My selective memory really must have been selective in 2006.

By the way, I'm off now to vacuum matzoh crumbs from the dining room and living room. And there's still that behemoth table and a few platters to return.

Growing up

Yesterday we visited the school my son will attend next year.

We toured the classrooms, met his future principal, kindergarten teachers, school nurse and secretary, and even boarded a school bus.

His Dad and I beamed as he aced his kindergarten readiness test by printing his name, knowing all of the ABCs, counting from 1 to 20, identifying shapes, and coming up with words that rhymed with cat and fish. The only question that stumped him was what he wanted to be called in school. He haltingly said the short version of his first name, looking at me for assurance that he was answering correctly.

He seemed most impressed by the live gerbils and stuffed Dr. Seuss characters in one kindergarten classroom, the playground and the library, where he immediately spied a Goosebumps book we hadn't read yet. He was disappointed that he couldn't yet check out the book and bring it home.

He was pretty quiet as we drove home. I can tell he's processing the visit. "Mom, what happens if I miss the bus?" he asked first thing this morning. "What do you do in a gymnasium?" came the next question as were in transit from the grocery store.

Once in a lifetime

A bald eagle visited our neighborhood this morning.

My husband awakened me from dream sleep. You've got to come downstairs and see this, he said, excitedly reporting the details. "It's once in a lifetime," he stressed, noticing that I had barely moved.

I opened one eye to a slit and managed to make my way downstairs. I peered out the back door window, trying to open both eyes at the same time. I noted that it was at least a full hour before my son usually awakens.

The eagle was perched atop a tall pine tree. Crows were cawing and dive-bombing at the majestic bird, trying to shoo it away from their tree. It flew nonchalantly to another tall pine on just a bit higher ground. It stayed there for a couple of hours, plenty of time for all of us to focus the binoculars and get a good look.

More best books for children

My son and I enjoyed several children's books from the library this past month. The one that delighted us the most is Big Wolf and Little Wolf by Nadine Brun-Cosme, with illustrations by Olivier Tallec.

It's a fairly new book about the budding relationship between a big wolf and the little wolf who comes uninvited into his space one afternoon and decides to stay awhile. When the two part, the big wolf is left with a heart-breaking longingness that makes my son and me sigh sadly.

Owl Moon by Jane Yolen inspired us to reserve a time near the next full moon to go out owling with Daddy in Hartley Field.

And Queen Esther Saves her People by Rita Golden Gelman and Jewish Holiday Games for Little Hands by Ruth Esrig Brinn need to be remembered for their usefulness in putting on the Purim carnival at religious school.

The big hill

My son's ski lessons have gone well this winter. He can snowplow to a stop, bomb the non-skier's section of the hill without falling, turn through a cone and slow down or turn to avoid running into another skier. He has increased the number of runs he makes during each lesson. And, he's still having a lot of fun.

Yesterday, the ski program's director turned to me and told me he thought my son was ready to ride up on the chairlift and ski down the big hill. "Mom's not ready," I said, but agreed we would ask my son to gauge his interest.

His eyes got wide and a hoarse "yes" came out of his mouth when asked if he wanted to ride up on the chairlift. He was paired with a "highly responsible" ski cadet "who's great with the youngest skiers."

I feigned excitement and waved him on his way. The director, who also happens to be my son's great uncle, took one look at me and said, "I can ride up behind them and ski down the hill with them. Why don't I do that."

I began talking with another parent at the bottom of the hill while I waited for my son. Engrossed in conversation, I failed to see him come down the slope on the other side of the lift then turn into the line and go back up for a second run.

I saw him on his second run. Falling several times, but all smiles, he hit the last patch of the hill -- the non-skier's section -- confidently resting his hands on his knees and snowplowing to a stop directly in front of me.

Budding birder

I accompanied my son's preschool class on a snowshoe outing at Hartley Nature Center yesterday.

In addition to strapping on snowshoes and traversing across field, woods and pond to hear and see some birds, one highlight was the guest appearance of a black-capped chickadee in the nature center's classroom.

Their guide amazingly succeeded in getting all of the children to keep still, while she gently removed the captured bird from a white muslin bag. She placed its feet between her fingers and made her way slowly around the room, holding the delicate bird just inches in front of each child's face.

It weighs about as much as two pennies, she told them, as she answered a myriad of unasked questions of the group. Another guide showed how the trap, in which they had caught the bird earlier that morning, worked.

Then everyone stepped outside as their guide released the bird. It flew into some tall trees.

My son excitedly recounted the event to my layoff buddy who stopped by our house later in the day. He couldn't remember the name of the bird. "But wait," he cried and went upstairs.

He returned with "The Big Golden Book of Backyard Birds," paging through his book until he found a picture.

Bad guys

I wanted my son to be Haman for Purim. He's the bad guy who wears a black tri-cornered hat after which the pastry hamantaschen is fashioned. Everytime his name is mentioned on Purim, people boo, hiss and rattle their groggers.

I brought home the hat and black tunic from our religious school's costume bin and excitedly showed them to my son. He burst into tears at the suggestion that he dress up as Haman.

"Mommy, I don't want to be the bad guy," he cried, tears of despair running down both cheeks. "I really, really don't want to be the bad guy."

"We can talk about this tomorrow," I reassured him, as bedtime was drawing near. Next morning, my son plaintively called me into his room. "Mom," he said, from his bed. "I just don't want to be the bad guy."

Looking at the clock, I realized I had about 35 minutes to pull together an alternate costume and get myself dressed before I headed off to synagogue to set up for the carnival. My husband would need to manage this one.

I dug into my son's outgrown clothing box and last year's Halloween costumes and came out with some options, then handed the affair over to my husband. I opted to dress myself as the evil Haman.

When my son arrived at the Purim carnival, he proudly showed me his pirate costume. With his black eye patch, bandana, torn clothing and sword, I couldn't help but marvel at how good of a bad guy he made.