Last Purim, our theme was the Wizard of Oz. I dressed the part as the Wicked Witch, my daughter Dorothy. We heard megillah. The baby handled a gragger for the first time.
This morning, my mother called me on my way into work. What was said isn’t important, it’s just in my mid-30s I never thought I would be as hurt by my mother’s comments as I was today. I don’t think I’m that bad of a daughter, I really do try on many levels to please everyone. I’ve failed miserably.
So tonight everyone is going to Purim parties. Dressing up and having so much fun. Enjoying time as a family, of seeing their children excited to dress up. I don’t particularly care for Purim, but it’s hard not to feel an ache of missing out or exclusion.
None of this is particularly eloquent or well put together. Then again, neither am I. And I guess it’s as ok as I choose to make it. Or not.
A freilichen Purim.