Our Seder was a smashing success. Highlights included Kit asking "Why is this night different?" and then immediately pointing to Hannah's partner and saying "Logan!" (it's true, having him over for dinner does make tonight different!), X and Logan deciding that Elijah is in such a hurry to visit all the houses that he doesn't have time to go to the bathroom, Hannah reminding us all not to lick our pinky fingers after we dipped out wine for the plagues, J carefully putting on an apron to protect his nice shirt while he was cooking and then forgetting to take it off before sitting down to dinner, Kit finding the afikoman at the exact right point in the Seder by pure coincidence (they were wandering around playing with their dolls and spotted it), and me singing "Mi Chamocha" to the tune of "The Wellerman".

X: Do you pee behind bushes like Elijah?
K, scornfully: I pee in the toilet!
R: Invite gentiles to your Seder, they said! It'll be fine, they said!

Kit was really good for the whole evening, delighted to have extra people to play with and reasonably engaged by the pictures in the haggadah even when they didn't much care about the story we were telling. They ignored most of what was on the symbol plate, though they did suck all the salt water off the parsley leaf before rejecting the parsley itself, but they went to town on the matzo ball soup—a far cry from last year.

Our cooking plan went perfectly, and of course we made far too much food. The symbol plates were generously laden, and we went through the service so fast that we hadn't had time to get really hungry, so we had matzo ball* soup with my homemade stock—so damn good, never doing it any other way ever again—and GF matzo balls and meticulously slivered celery and carrots, and then had no room for actual dinner. We decided to take a break and do a round of clean-up to buy ourselves some digestion time. My grandparents had a tradition of Elijah bringing gifts of knowledge, a.k.a. books, to all the kids, and of course I'm happy to continue that tradition, so Kit was well entertained by a collection of Daniel Tiger bedtime stories while the rest of us bustled around.

* Why do I want to spell it "matzah" when I'm talking about the flat cracker form but "matzo ball" for the soup form? Transliteration habits are so weird.

Once the table was cleared and reset, each of us managed a small bowl of lamb or chicken stew and a couple of pieces of chocolate and a nibble of afikoman, and then we called it quits. Kit skipped the stew and just had chocolate; apparently the going exchange rate is 1 afikoman = 1 piece of chocolate-dipped marzipan. We'd meant to steam asparagus, but there was no time and we couldn't have eaten a bite of it anyway. It'll keep for tomorrow, or whenever we're able to think about food again.

For the last few weeks I've been shifting to lower-carb eating and smaller portions, so I'm super extra stuffed and feel no guilt whatsoever. It was a most excellent feast.

Kit often finds it hard to listen to people singing, but when I put them to bed, they let me very quietly sing "Eliyahu HaNavi" while rocking them and listening to the rain, just like in their delightful More Than Enough picture book (from which this post's subject line is taken). It was a very good end to the evening.

As for the omer count, I'm thinking of folding a little origami flower every night, and stringing them into a garland when I'm done. My room needs more decoration and it feels like a nice way to celebrate the growing season.

My mom and her husband managed to catch a three-week cold a few weeks ago—that's definitely what it is, just an ordinary rhinovirus, and their pulmonologist is mystified as to how it's hung on this long—and they're on the mend but haven't had a chance to do any Pesach prep. I was very chuffed to make and deliver Seder plates for them, including lamb shank slices that are frankly large enough to be the main course. (We braised them in wine and spices, because my family tradition is to give each person a symbol plate and to eat everything on it, and roasted bones are very symbolic but not very edible.) I thought I'd miss having a Seder to go to tonight, but it felt appropriately holidayish to do this mitzvah instead—and to get to really hug my mom for the first time in a year.

Kit saw me packing things up, said "Gramma's not feeling well, I need to cook", and put on their apron; they were a little disappointed to learn that all the cooking was done, but they carefully helped me put the care package together. They're such a sweet kid.

Tomorrow we'll have a "second" Seder that's actually our first, in person, with our governess and her fiancé. They'll get here mid-afternoon so we can cook together, and then we'll see whether we can get Kit to actually sit through a Seder. We have the PJ Library haggadah, which is pretty accessible (though I don't like its English translations of the blessings at all and will substitute my own), and we've been practicing finding the afikoman by hiding some of Kit's toy matzah. They're capable of saying "Why is this night different from all other nights?" but not of doing it on command, so we may try all reciting it together, or doing repeat-after-me. The youngest person is supposed to ask the four questions, but nothing requires them to do it alone.

And a month from now, we'll do a Pesach Sheni with my mother and brother and stepfather and stepsister, in person, because by then I should have been able to get at least one dose of some vaccine or other, and it will be as safe as it can be to dine outdoors together in what I hope is beautiful late-April weather. It feels very appropriate for it to be a Pesach Sheni; I want to write off the whole past year as tamei from being in close contact with death, and it will feel like a make-up not just for this year's Pesach but last year's too.

Chag sameach to everyone celebrating, and chag kasher v'sameach to those for whom it's meaningful!

( Our cooking plan )