Lately I've been dealing with people who have the best intentions in the world but screw up and, you know, I'm kind of over it. At a certain point, results matter.
Except, I'm hoping not in the Passover arena.
We are kind of casually hardcore when it comes to Passover. We put all the chametz in the basement, we drink wine instead of beer, and, within our self-chosen confines (and believe you me we've got rice and coldy peas with us in those confines), we do our best to observe. Of course we give the kids a choice, but basically once they turn five or six, they choose to try. This year M is far away in an exciting place, so she decided not to do it, which is totally fine with us, but E is going for it, which means lots of matza, eggs, and avocado. Fine, fine, fine.
Yesterday, my sister, E, L, and I went on a very fun expedition for which I even prepared: backpack, matza, cheese, apples, water bottle. I knew we'd get snacks, but I wanted to make sure we had food we could eat. So E ate the apple and we ate our matza and cheese. Then we had some French fries. Then we did some more fun stuff. Then we had ice cream. All well and good.
We came home. My sister napped. The girls played. I worked.
My sister got up, came into the living room, and asked, "Are we observing Passover?"
"Well, yeah," I said.
"The cones!" she stage whispered, dramatically.
The cones. The cones in which we had ordered the ice cream, without a second thought.
S says at least they're flat.
We didn't tell the kids.