Dai, Dayenu . . . I'll, I'll Weigh You

Our Seder went well. My husband did a great job leading it, and the kids loved singing the songs and looking for the afikomen. Grandma didn't seem offended at all by the real wine (it's grape juice all the way at her church), perhaps partly because my uncle, a minister himself and my grandma's favorite son-in-law, chose to drink all four glasses of wine. He has always been wonderful to us, setting an excellent example for the rest of my family when it comes to dealing with our intermarriage. He even brought his own yarmulke. I was touched, as I know my husband was. My mother-in-law also had nothing but wonderful things to say about him after the Seder.

The only negative part of the evening was that my father did not show up. His not coming would not have surprised or bothered me nearly as much if he had not promised my son repeatedly that he would attend. When my mother arrived alone, my son began to wail. I asked my mother why my father hadn't come, and she said he didn't say. The poor kid wailed louder. After he had calmed down a bit, I excused myself, went to another room, and called my dad. Long story short: my father, in his typical passive-aggressive manner, was punishing my mother because of some argument they had had, and my little boy was the one who got hurt. My father has broken his promises to me a hundred times, but somehow I hoped my children would never know that part of his personality. At the very least, I hoped they wouldn't have to know it until they were out of diapers.

Saturday morning we were to go to my parents' house. My husband was not thrilled about going there after my father's childish behavior, but we piled into the car and went anyway.

And here's the really fun part. When we walked into my parents' house, my dad immediately picked up my son and said, "You're really growing! Let's go see how much you weigh!" This has become a habit of his -- weigh the kids before we're even all in the door. I realize weighing toddlers isn't unheard of, but this is the man who taught me that my weight is inversely proportional to my value, and I'm not letting him teach my children that lesson. I've had enough. Now, I don't think quickly on my feet, and I was trying to plan what I was going to say to keep the great weigh-in from happening while avoiding World War III. Well, let's just say that while I was searching for the right words, my husband found some of his own that got the point across quite nicely, and neither of my children was weighed.

Have I mentioned how much I love my husband?