Why is this night different from all other nights?
On all other nights, we have just one toddler to wrangle. On this night, we have nine adults, six toddlers, and two babies to feed, get through the Haggadah, search for the afikomen (note to self: two year olds don’t quite get the concept of searching for matzoh), and get out the door before Doodles’s 7:15 p.m. bedtime.
Why do we eat only matzoh on Pesach?
We don’t if our name is Doodles. In that case, the question is “Why do we only eat Goldfish, three meals a day, seven days a week, fifty-two weeks a year?” And why is it that matzoh, that looks and tastes pretty much exactly like a cracker, we won’t touch?
Why do we eat maror, the bitter herbs?
Because trying to cook a seder dinner (matzoh ball soup, brisket, potato kugel, Israeli salad, matzoh crunch, berry melange) with a toddler under foot who refuses to nap is enough to make any grown woman cry as she demands for the twenty-third time, “Doodles! NO! The oven is not a toy! No touch!”
Why do we dip our foods twice tonight?
Twice? We dip our foods over and over and over again. And then we lick them. And then we examine them. And then we hide them under our booster seat and hope that Mom never finds them. And then we demand a cookie.
Why do we lean tonight?
Because, Doodles, you’re heavy and I’ve got this parasite growing in my belly and my lower back is killing me and there’s no way possible for me to straighten up.
Has anyone else noticed that technically there seem to be five questions? What’s up with that?
