Spring break for my daughter began Friday night with a friend’s birthday party: a sleepover at her family’s beach house out in Malibu. This meant driving out there Friday after school and then again to pick her up on Saturday morning – before my husband and I had to race to an appointment near downtown Los Angeles.

Needless to say, come Sunday morning I was a whirling dervish of Passover cooking and cleaning. And I somehow managed to get all the matzo balls, kugel, roast chicken and silver polishing done in time to sit down for our tiny little family Seder.

At the ritual’s midway point, when we break to enjoy the result of all that cooking, I realized I had never called my sister in Sacramento, to wish her a Happy Passover.

“What are you talking about?” she said. “Passover is tomorrow.”


Entering the wrong dates in my calendar appears to be my thing now, as I have been doing that a lot.

I tried hard not to feel sheepish as we finished our meal. It was tough, as my husband and daughter were laughing so hard.

I decided to think of last night as our dress rehearsal – and for once, I am facing the first (actual) night of Passover relaxed, because the cooking and cleaning are all done.

Happy Passover.

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