We went downhill skiing last Sunday. By that I mean we loaded up skis, lunch, and extra clothing for the kids and drove across town in the pouring rain. We held our breath that it would be snowing in the hills.

Another pagan-cum-Judeo-Christian holiday has passed, and I’m still at a loss for how to answer the big questions my three- and six-year-old daughters ask, like, “Who is the Easter Bunny?” or, “How did this plastic jelly bean-filled egg get onto this shelf fungus?”