Memory is selective.
Women pretty much forget what they went through in labor. In spite of being intense, and sometimes painful, they usually look forward to having another child.
People that were obsessed with getting their homes free of chametz and perfectly clean and orderly seem to forget all about it once the holiday actually starts. The whole family descends on them; the grandchildren run around playing, leaving toys and clothes and books in their wake; furniture is moved around to accommodate diners and conversations; towels and bedding are out, in disarray in every room of the house, including the living room and the housewife that would have shouted about such behavior 48 hours ago, is getting a kind of pure pleasure from this chaos, a kind of satisfaction that is only felt at this time of year, at Passover.
Passover is a holiday of transformation.
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