Fast forward a few years. Time passes. Kids are born. The family grows. I wake up one day and instead of spending Pesach at my parents’ home or in the luxury of a hotel (I served as a program director for a couple of years) … I am it. I’m the star attraction — suddenly nominated to be the hostess to a bunch of other grown-ups who expect me to cook and bake palatable dishes and cakes in quantities large enough to satisfy grown men and picky children. People and their expectations of eating three times even on Pesach! There is only so much one woman can do with potato starch sugar and oil. Frankly I am scared.

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