Creative juices

There's nothing like the thawing feeling of Spring. I sense the budding of the trees before I actually see them. Even an impending cold snap or dreary rains don't dampen my mood once I recognize that, yes, I will be warm again.

Along with the warming Southern breezes come the cheering days of Purim, the Jewish holiday of costumes and food basket deliveries.

This year we took things a bit easier than usual. In the past I made close to a hundred mini banana breads, or jars of salsa. I just didn't have it in me this year to be creative and industrious. We opted out for the local Yeshiva's fundraiser. We checked off the names of our closest friends, sent in a check, and voila! Delivered Purim baskets, no fuss, no muss.

I have been feeling a bit guilty today as adorable kiddos in their costumes keep knocking softly at my door, presenting me their beautiful, tasty, and clever gift bags. It's not that I didn't try. I made a batch of homemade hamantaschen with real butter cookie dough and real fruit jelly inside. They came out horribly disfigured and ugly. If we had a dog, I would have fed them to him. Unfortunately, they're as delicious as they are hideous. I'm eating the diet-killers myself.

I managed to scrounge up enough decent ones to make some anemic baskets for the kids' teachers. A hamantachen, a clementine, and applesauce. How beneath my standards, I lamented this morning as I compiled them in Ziploc baggies and sent them with the kiddos to school.

I should have put the law school hubby up to the task. Several weeks ago we met with a social worker to discuss our baby's proclivity for creating chaos in her wake. The social worker suggested a behavioral approach, which is psycho-babble for "bribe her into behaving". We gave it a try. We offered a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity of baking with Daddy (thank goodness she didn't want me!) in return for some minor lifestyle changes. You come to the table the first time you're asked and keep your effluvia in the commode, and you and daddy will make cookies!

After some serious negotiations - our three year old drives a hard bargain - we came to an agreement. She comes to the table on time, and dooties in the potty, and in return gets to make cupcakes with daddy. Not ordinary, plain boring cupcakes, but fancy ones. Monkey-faced ones. We have Tia Mirth to thank for that. Last time she visited, she brought us silicone cupcake baking cups with feet and a fancy book on decorating the delights. Nothing less would do for our little princess!

Spring has been ginning up the creative forces throughout the family. For Purim, our little cupcake chef wanted to be a fairy. Granma Thuthin gladly offered to help out, sewing a lovely costume with matching wings. Our pixie was enchanted by and enchanting in her attire. She informed everyone, whether they asked or not, that she was a fairy, NOT a butterfly!

The big kids couldn't make up their minds. My first grader wanted to be a bluebird at first, but a suitable pattern couldn't be found. My son mumbled something about Harry Potter, and stuck his nose back into a book.

But as the winter winds gave way to warming rays, something remarkable happened. My first grader went from See Jane Run to Ramona the Brave and Harry Potter: The Sorcerer's Stone. Seemingly overnight, our child turned into a voracious, capable reader. Her nose didn't come out of the first Harry Potter book for a two week period. When it finally emerged, her eyes had a glint to them, and she declared, "I want to be Hermione Granger for Purim!"

Unfortunately, it was a bit too late in the game. But motherhood is the necessity of invention, and with just two days to go, and no working internet, we hit the costume shops running. Thirty bucks! I hissed into my new Bluetooth at my husband. The costume shop was asking thirty dollars for a cheap, flimsy, nylon Harry Potter robe, and it didn't even include a wand. I reassured my children that we could do better. Truthfully, I wasn't so sure.

With hours left before the megilla reading, I found another costume store that had a lovely, velour-ish Harry Potter robe, for forty dollars. Inwardly, I gasped. Outwardly, I grumbled, and stomped out of the store, indignantly. Things were getting desperate. I ran off to Walmart to see if they had anything. The salesperson looked at me as if I were completely insane when I asked for costumes. "We haven't had those in a few months." She flatly informed me.

I went to the men's department and found the last black XL pocketless t-shirt there, and an adorable boy's shirt and tie in a lovely peach color. It worked for my son's birthday party, I thought. It'll have to do. I rushed to pick up the kids from school, ran home, and began compiling Harry Potter costumes from household supplies: old hat pins, binder clips, scissors, and tape. The results were surprising.


My son's costume was a little easier. My mother-in-law had sent an old graduation robe, hemmed for his height, last year, and she had given him a real tie in the family tartan for Chanukah (yes, that last phrase is a complete contradiction in terms). So, with the purchase of a pair of plastic glasses, the wands from his 8th birthday party, and a make-up scar, we were set!

The Purim services were a lot of fun. The big kids sat with Daddy, and the little fairy sat with me, asking me a million and one questions, and making noise to her heart's content.

And my kids looked great.

The beautiful baskets keep coming, and I feel so embarrassed that I have nothing to give in return. I learned an important lesson this Purim: plan ahead, put in real effort, and the results will be worth the trouble.

Oh, yeah. And get a better Hamantaschen recipe.