This weekend was a full on interfaith fiesta with a Passover Seder on Saturday and Easter chocolate madness on Sunday.

On the way to the Seder, Rick and I were pondering one of the lesser known four questions… how long do a pair of windshield wipers last? It was pouring and our car had a shiny new pair of wipers, and we had tired of discussing bitter herbs.

I said, 6 months. Rick thought a year. My dad piped in with 2 t0 3 years. Dylan and Summer had no strong convictions on the topic.

And then the driver’s side wiper suddenly snapped off.

So I guess they last about 46 hours.

After some roadside assistance, because it’s really really hard to drive like this…

we finally made our way to my in-laws’ where we had a fabulous Passover dinner. In my yearly Seder ritual, I ate about 16 pieces of chocolate covered matzoh. Which is about 15 too many.

On Sunday, Easter morning, we headed off to Church where I got chatted up by an 8 year-old.

During the service, the boy leans over to me and says, “Is this your first time here?”

“No, I’ve been here a few times. But I don’t come a lot,” I respond.

Deep sigh by the 8 year-old. “I have to come EVERY Sunday,” he replies.

“Wow, that is a lot,” I agree.

The whole weekend was truly a phenomenal success because neither Dylan nor Summer wore their Dora/Princess nightgowns to any of the religious festivities. Instead, Dylan went with the traditional Pesach Dallas Cowboys’ cheerleader look…

And Summer opted for the purple Easter ballerina (an outfit cleverly designed to distract all adults so she could stuff massive amounts of chocolate into her mouth without detection).

Both girls are now complete chocolate addicts (genetically inspired I’m sure) and I’m about to throw every chocolate and malted egg down the garbage shoot in an effort to save us all.

1. A one-gal crusade against lol or LOL is completely exhausting.

2.  No one joined my anti-LOL Facebook group. Ok, I never actually started the group but only because I was so tired from the aforementioned one-gal crusade.

3. I need to conserve my energy for wondering why Nate and Blair, who have absolutely no chemistry, would possibly get back together on “GG.” Boy, those 23 year-old writers must think we old broads will believe anything.

4. Even though it’s completely overused, LOL is indeed a compliment. Or it means that someone hasn’t read your post but knows you bill yourself as a humor writer so they figure, what the hell, she’ll never know the difference. But either way, it’s still more of a compliment than “You suck.”

5. Even my real estate broker writes LOL in his emails which means this acronym has seriously gone mainstream and the momentum just can’t be stopped. I know my mother is going to get wind of this soon enough. Of course, at this moment, she’s reading this and wondering what it stands for. Laughing Out Loud, mom. That will keep her from getting all crazy with the google.

6. Marinka uses LOL so it must be cool.

7. I feel like a bully targeting LOL when LMAO, ROFL and HeHe are out there and spreading like princess glitter and Legos.

8. I was afraid all the other bloggers would start mocking me for being an LOL virgin. Word was getting out. And frankly, it’s embarrassing at my age.

9. I can’t hate LOL because it’s a vital part of my newest acronym… LOLEMCCE: Laughing Out Loud while Eating Matzoh and Cadbury Creme Eggs. It’s interfaith and seasonal. Feel free to use it liberally.

Can you believe I didn’t bother to come up with a number 10? I mean, seriously would it be that hard to think of one more stupid reason? Man, am I super lame, or what?  lol.

mama bird notes:

As you know, I recently had the opportunity to have my DNA analyzed by a new genetics company, 23andMe. I learned a lot of great information about my risk for certain diseases, my ancestry and my personal traits. But to find all this out, first I had to spit. I’m writing about the experience each week on the 23andMe website. Here’s an excerpt from my latest post.

“How difficult can spitting be?  Just a few months ago, I sat in the front row of this Off Broadway one man show and the actor let his saliva fly for 70 straight minutes. I could have done his genotyping right there. Spitting looked pretty darn easy. When I recently sat down to fill up my 23andMe spit vial, I figured it would take a minute or two. Except trying to generate all that saliva was actually kind of hard…”

To read more of this post and check out the 23andMe community, click here.

Finally, I just want send my love and prayers to the Spohr family. They lost their little girl Maddie this week and there are just no words. My heart hurts for them. They are asking for contributions to the March of Dimes. Please click here to contribute.

Because Dylan feels it’s her moral obligation to point out gross inequities in the world, she recently notified me that we only have ONE pink ponytail holder. This would force either Summer or herself to use a ponytail holder of a far inferior and completely revolting color like blue or green or red.

I immediately grasped the gravity of the situation and took Dylan to the drugstore to buy more pink ponytail holders. I believe in throwing money at a problem, particularly when by “money” I mean “$1.69.”

So Dylan picks out the new hairbands (a multitude of colors including precious pink ones, adorned with sparkly plastic gems - so it’s pretty much a miraculous blessing from God).  We are standing in line to pay for the new hair accessories, when I see Dylan licking the hairbands.

I notice this because I’m extremely perceptive and also because it’s hard to not notice a child licking merchandise at Duane Reade.

“Dylan, please stop licking those! We haven’t even paid for them. That’s icky,” I say.

I take the hairbands, attempt to wipe them off and hand them to the cashier. I’m realizing for the first time in all my years of shopping that unintended contact with foreign saliva is a downside to being a cashier.

After paying, I hand the hairbands back to Dylan who immediately resumes licking them.

“Dylan! I told you to stop that! They’re not clean.”

And she replies, “No, you just told me that we had to pay for them first.”

My thinking is that pink hairbands are just so magical, they must taste like fresh, sweet, irresistible cotton candy.

My husband is thinking he’s completely grossed out by this whole post.

So I’ve been following Obama’s European Extravaganza 09 rock tour. Man, did you see the crowds in Berlin?

Do they think they just elected him as their new chancellor or something? He’s coming back to here to fix all our economic problems – right?

Actually, it’s kind of fun and different to have the world not HATE us 24/7.

A day earlier, the First Lady cozied up to the Queen and everyone had their knickers in a bunch because Michelle put her arm around the Queen.  Apparently that’s a no no.  Doesn’t look like QE2 minded though because she also put her arm around Michelle.

And then you should have seen them madly making out later at the pubs. Honestly, a bit too much PDA for my taste but I’m glad we’re getting along with the Brits.

I’ll tell you who’s also breaking protocol these days. Miss You-didn’t-just-say-that-Gisele.

Let’s briefly rewind…

Actress Bridget Moynahan dates hunky quarterback Tom Brady.

They break-up.

The quarterback starts dating supermodel Gisele.

As if it doesn’t suck enough when your ex-boyfriend is dating the richest supermodel in the world, ex-girlfriend Bridget find outs she’s pregnant.

Bridget gives birth to a baby boy.

The quarterback marries supermodel Gisele.

Then Gisele says the following about her new stepson (Bridget + quarterback’s baby), “I understand that he has a mom, and I respect that. But to me, it’s not like because somebody else delivered him, that’s not my child — I feel it is, 100 percent.”

100% her child? I honestly think it’s incredibly wonderful when a stepparent loves a child as their own but let’s use some social graces and show an ounce of respect for the baby mama.

Bridget honey – I’m with you girl.

Now I may feel a certain kinship towards Bridget and her son because my parents were never actually married. And if this was a confessional blog, I would give you all the spicy details on that situation. But alas, it’s not. So all I can say is that it did not in anyway involve Gisele, Twiggy or any other supermodel.

Did you catch me this week on the morning radio show on the Australian Broadcasting Corporation?

No? Oh, maybe I should have told you about it. But after two posts on my very brief “Good Morning America” fame, I thought you might think I’m some kind of shameless, self-promoting media whore.

Anyway, a producer at ABC radio in Australia contacted me because they liked my Washington Post piece on changing Summer’s name and they wanted me to take part in a lighthearted discussion about names.

I was a little hesitant given the nasty reaction from some of the Post’s readers. I didn’t need the Australians calling me a knitwit or the the down under equivalent, a whacker.

But everyone assured me that Australians are sweet as Tim Tams.

So at 11:30 pm (morning in Australia), the producer calls me and tells me to stand by and puts me on hold.

I immediately need to pee. Really badly. But I’m too terrified to go to the bathroom because what if they suddenly take me live and Australians from Sydney to Perth hear me tinkling on the air. So I cross my legs and wait.

Hosts Geoff Hutchison and Nick Bruining come on soon after and we start talking about names.

“So where did you get the name Summer?” they ask.

“Well, I first heard the name on “The O.C.” and just loved it. The show is canceled now. Have you ever seen it?” I reply.

“Oh yes, we get “The O.C..” So what show do you watch now?” one of the hosts asks.

“Well, I love “Gossip Girl,” I admit.

“Are you going to change Summer’s name to “xo xo?” asks Nick Bruining.

“I’m definitely considering it,” I reply laughing.

They insist that it must be impossible to reprimand a child named Summer because there is no way to say “Summer” with any kind of authority.

So they have me pretend to yell, “SUMMER, I am really angry with you!”

Nope, sounds too nice. They tell me to try again.

So I yell, “SUMMER! Come here right now!”

Still sounds too sweet and well, summery.

All in all, my debut on Australian radio was a success. Except that I forgot to mention that I have this blog called The Mama Bird Diaries. The hosts were so funny and endearing. And not once did someone call me a knitwit. Or even a whacker.