Yoav and I are both not-quite-sick-but-yes-a-little-sick, sniffly and drippy and my throat hurts and he feels a tiny bit feverish. The weather has blown hot and cold (har har har), everyone is sick (it seems), the girlies both have stuffy noses sometimes, etc.
So Purim morning after megilla reading, Yoav stays home to receive visitors and I go out with the girls. The stroller is full of plates of hot dogs and french fries (and supplemental Druyan Cup'o'Junk (TM) cups full of candy), I'm wearing the baby and Sarah Rochel is walking. We're just on our block, but we don't get everywhere we wanted to go - alright, fine, Purim is about letting go.
Back home, it's almost 2 PM, our seuda is at 2:30, Yoav is at shul, Sarah Rochel is playing in the other room, Shulamis is on the rug kicking air... and I start doing what I've noticed I do every year on Purim, which go from kitchen to mirpesset repeatedly, looking outside for something but I don't know what.
Anyway, I recall that Purim is of course an incredibly powerful time to pray. I got to daven this morning, but mincha is generally out of my grasp. I don't have time to daven mincha now either - formal prayer is pretty much now my husband's domain when I am in charge of the kiddos, but it occurs to me to grab my tehillim. I flip open at random, and this is what I read:
Moshivei akeres habayis, em habanim smeicha.
Isn't that the entire Purim story? Making great who was low - turning things around - taking an orphaned, greenish girl and making her a queen that she might save her people - and our own Purim story, making us the glad parents of children.
That's what Purim is.
I finished the perek, and then Sarah Rochel pops her head in to say, "Mommy, come change my diaper now, I finished pooping."
And that, my friends, is what it's all about.