Wasn't it obvious that your huge kiddush would upstage our seudah? 

Shosh: We do this every year. What’s the big deal?

Ari: Your little kiddush ruined the meal we worked so hard to prepare.

Shosh

A few days before Shavuos, I sat down to finalize my Yom Tov menu.

It didn’t take me long as I don’t change it up that much from year to year. Milchigs at nights, fleishigs for the days, a bunch of cheesecakes for kiddush — I’d leave that for my girls.

I don’t go for patchkeh or ridiculously over-elegant dishes. I prefer easy and plentiful, but things have changed a little since my girls became bona fide teens. They’ve been earmarking recipes since Tu B’Shevat, and I had a feeling I’d be adding a whole lot of specialty ingredients to my shopping list this Erev Yom Tov.

“So what’s on the menu?” Simi asked, leaning over my shoulder. “You’re not doing that brisket again, are you? I saw an amazing roast—”

“Simi, honey,” I said. “You and Leah and Michal are more than welcome to go wild for the kiddush. But I will take care of the Yom Tov meals. And ‘that brisket’ happens to be everyone’s favorite, including the kids, so that is what we’ll be having.”

She mock pouted, but then brightened. “Wait, so I can make the Dubai cheesecake? And the cheesecake brownie bars? And the lotus mousse cups—”

“Just make sure you’re actually going to make all of them after I take out a second mortgage for the ingredients.”

She giggled.

“So who’s coming for the meals? Zaidy and Bubby?”

“Mr. Gluck is coming for the night meals, and I assume we’re having Zaidy and Bubby the first day, probably Ari and Tamar also. And I was thinking of inviting Yocheved and her family….”

“Fun. And we’re going to the Liebermans second day?”

“Yeah, that’s like a holy minhag by now.”

“Cool, Chedva is sooo classy, love her tablescapes.”

“As opposed to your boring old mom who serves brisket, huh?”

“I didn’t say that,” Simi said, laughing, and then the others came in and wanted to know what the joke was, and the conversation turned to Dubai cheesecakes and various exotic and exquisite miniatures.

It was only a couple of days later that I remembered to call Ma.

“Hi, Ma, how’s it going?” I asked. “How’s Tatty… great, baruch Hashem! The girls are busy… yup, well, more baking than studying, but that, too. They’re very excited for Shavuos, trying lots of new recipes, you know.”

“Hmm, sounds like someone I know,” my mother chuckled.

“Ha. Those were the days. Before I turned busy and boring,” I said, laughing, too. “The girls would never believe it — they think I’m the least creative cook around. But anyway, will you and Tatty be joining us for the day seudah? Can I pencil you in?”

It had been a few years since my parents stopped hosting Yom Tov themselves. We are five siblings, and now that Ari and Avigail had moved back from Israel, we all lived within walking distance. It had been a natural segue into kids hosting parents, and it worked well for everyone. They got to enjoy the nachas without the burden of hosting and cooking and cleaning, and we all enjoyed having them over, sometimes with some of the siblings, sometimes without, no pressure.

For Pesach, they’d moved in with Malky for first days — she had the most space to host for sleeping — and we’d all joined for one huge family Seder. For last days, they’d stayed home, and come to Yocheved and me each for a day meal. Tova, the youngest of us sisters, hosted all of us for Shabbos after Pesach, which worked out nicely for everyone.

Hosting my parents for Shavuos morning kiddush, followed by a little break and then the seudah, was practically tradition by us, so I was actually surprised when Ma paused and then said, “Oh — actually, Ari and Avigail invited us already.”