I was taking leave of… a succah I had barely had the chance to sit in. A succah I had decorated but not enjoyed

Our farewell kiddush in the succah was a repeat of all the seudos that preceded it.

His piece of cake was bigger and had more cream on it. She was sitting on the big chair but really it was her turn to sit on the bench. And so on and so forth. I could practically see the middos alerts in outer space.

All we needed was the requisite spilled drink… and there it was.

“Everyone out of the succah! No! I’ve had enough. Eat your cake in the kitchen.”

I was exhausted. Beyond exhausted. Finished. Done.

Weeks of cooking and baking and cleaning and all the wonderful Tishrei activities I don’t have to describe to any frum mother worth her (inflated post-Yom Tov) weight.

I stood in the corner of the succah, about to speed-read the tefillah for taking leave of the succah while hoping World War XVI wasn’t breaking out in the kitchen.

And stopped.