On opening night, our family of five went to see The Jungle Book. The excitement among the kids was palpable. I sat between my oldest and youngest daughters, one my beloved through adoption, another my beloved through the biology of my body.
It was the first night of Passover, and I was trying to coax my four-year-old into a clean outfit for the Seder. Her polka-dotted tank top from two summers ago and mismatched biking shorts didn't seem appropriate for a formal religious dinner on a cold evening in Chicago.