Hey, you! What are you doing here? Are you just trying to distract me. People, I have THINGS to do!
Okay, deep breath. Those of you who know me, know I’m a fairly organized person. I have binders. They’re labeled. They’re color coded. They’re pretty. Adam just went to the accountant to do our taxes. The accountant said we are the most organized folk he’s ever seen. I have systems and techniques and methods for staying on top of things. I have charts. Being type-A makes me happy. Nothing is more satisfying to me than purging the crap from my life. Did you know that I’ve not only made four batches of hamantaschen at home, but I, somewhat successfully, managed to eke out a few dozen batches with a class of nine toddlers and then a class of twelve preschoolers. And I make freakin’ good hamantaschen. (My recipe comes from The New Jewish Holiday Cookbook, which is amazing!) Is it because I’m a good cook? Nah. I’m really not. It’s because I’m organized!
So how is it that it’s now 8:29 p.m. and at 4:30 tomorrow my son is to be dressed as King Ahasuerus and I have nary a king’s robe nor scepter in sight. Yes, that’s right. I’ve got nothing! Nada. Or, to be somewhat holiday appropriate, Klum. Purim, the most joyous of Jewish holidays, is gonna be a tear-fest for one of us.
How did this come about? I’d like to blame the Y chromosome. Because the X chromosomed of this family are all set for tomorrow.
If you recall, Doodles was an astronaut for Halloween. A lovely idea but a less than lovely costume. I ordered it online, and the helmet was this rolled up piece of plastic that supposedly attached by Velcro to an inflatable backpack. Except the Velcro never stuck and I was worried he was going to suffocate behind all that plastic. It’s not a practical costume, certainly not if part of your Purim festivities include a “festive meal,” which ours certainly does.
Exactly a week ago, on the way to feeding group, we passed by a party store that advertised “Purim Costumes.” We stopped off.
Me: What do you want to be?
Doodles: I don’t know.
He flips through the racks.
Doodles: Oooh! I want to be this!
He found a Power Rangers costume. I’m not crazy about Power Rangers, but I look nonetheless.
Me: It’s a size eight to ten.
Doodles: Will that fit?
Me: No. You’re a size 4T. Sort of. [Note: Doodles is still small. Very, very small. Truth be told, there are probably some 2T costumes he could comfortably fit in.]
Doodles: How about this knight?
Me: Nope. I’m not sending you to school with a sword. Hey [pointing to a 2T to 4T sized king’s outfit]. How about King Ahasuerus?
Doodles: No. I think I want to be Superman.
Me: King Ahasuerus is a pretty cool costume.
Doodles: No, Superman. Maybe Spiderman.
Me: [Sigh] Okay, well they don’t have any of those in your size. We’ll have to check another store.
We leave the store.
Over the weekend, we’re pretty busy. In my oh-so-organized way, I take my son to a Shabbat service, co-chair a tot Purim program, take my son to a birthday party, and color Easter eggs with friends. I mention to my son that we need to go to the party store to look for his costume.
Me: Superman, right?
Doodles: No! I’m going to be King Ahasuerus. Remember?
Me: WHAT?! I thought you wanted to be Superman!?!
Doodles, sighing heavily: No, mom! I want to be King Ahasuerus!
On Monday, I tell Adam, “Listen, I need you to go by that party store [it’s absolutely, completely, totally, can’t miss it, on the way home from work for him] and get Doodles his costume.” Adam, of course, replies, “Yeah, sure.” Adam, of course, neglects to stop by the party store.
I contemplate making the outfit, but invariably, I’d end up spending about five times more on materials for a less-than-satisfying costume than if I had just bought the damn thing.
So today, on our way back to feeding group, we stop at the party store. Where they have one king costume left. Size 12 to 14.
Me: Doodles, they don’t have your king costume.
Doodles: Okay. We’ll get it somewhere else. Hey, Pie!
Pie: Yeah?
Doodles: Pie, why don’t you go as Queen Esther.
Me: Doodles, hush up! Pie has already decided to go as Pooh [a costume that our neighbors gave us a long time ago as dress up and is sitting in our basement just waiting for Purim.]
Doodles: No, Pie wants to be Queen Esther. Look at the pretty Queen Esther costumes!
Me: Doodles!
Doodles: Pie, don’t you want to be Queen Esther?
Pie: I’m going to be Pooh.
Doodles: But look how pretty Queen Esther is.
Pie: Yeah. Pie going to be Queen Esther.
Doodles: See!!! She wants to be Queen Esther.
I dragged them out of that store as fast as I could. I told Adam we needed a king costume and he had to stop by a different party store. “Oh yeah. Didn’t you tell me to do that earlier in the week?” ARG!! “I can swing by on the way home.” When I tell him the store in his neighborhood is all sold out, he has the nerve–the freakin’ nerve!!–to say to me, “Well, what did you expect? It’s across the street from a synagogue.” Little does he know that the wine I served him tonight is poisoned.
So, anyway, here we are, now 8:50 p.m., and I have nothing. Nada. Klum. Did I mention that before? I wonder if I can convince Doodles that there’s a ghost in the Book of Esther. A plain ghost. Made out of a sheet. A green sheet. Because, you know, we don’t have any white sheets.
Purim freakin’ Sameach, people. Happy freakin’ Purim. Good thing I’m supposed to get drunk.
God. I’m feeling so guilty because I just can’t be bothered about Purim this year, my stomach has been finnicky, which it never is, and it’s beyond me to care about anything other than the fact that I am on holiday for a week and yet I don’t seem to be able to get enough rest. The thought of wanting to bake is beyond me – but really? Hamantaschen? Oh blech, they taste so vile! But am in awe of your inner (and outer) domestic Goddess.
I like to colour-code and have things organised as well, though I am nowhere near your level. One day, one day…
Simchat purim!