Rantings of a Mother of the Bar Mitzvah in the 45 Days Before the BIG EVENT(S)

Once, I was a regular chick. I had a life. A career. Then two kids and a career. Two kids and a career and a full and busy life. Then the career went. And the descent into madness began. Seven and a half years later, it's down to this. Forty-five days before the big BAR MITZVAH of First Born Son. And the madness has fully taken over.

You, dear reader, get to witness the fun.

15 January 2010

Day 43: I wanna be sedated

No, I didn't go to yoga today. No, I didn't leave the house yet. Yes, I have been home waiting for the mail, and when it finally came with a mere three affirmative RSVPS, the panic set in.

What if people haven't GOTTEN their invitations?

What if people don't understand what I am inviting them to - it is afterall, a complicated invitation, with a morning service, a short brunch at a hotel to follow and THEN a kids' party the next day. I have heard rumblings that kids don't know how to respond to all of this.

Thus began the telephone calls. I wanted to make them before FBS came home, before his friends would be home to hear their moms get the phone calls. So I had to act fast.

They went something like this: "Hi, this is Barmitzvazilla, and I was calling to confirm that your son/daughter received the invitation that we sent him/her to FBS's B-Mitzvah..."

If an actual human being answered, we chatted. And chatted. And chatted. And it occurred to me that this is sort of nice, since I have only lived in this tiny, insular hamlet for a mere two and a half years, and many parents seeing an invitation from the FBS would tend to be like, "who is this kid?" With no connection to me, there would seem to be less obligation to act quickly and definitively and, of course, positively. Sometimes, yes, let's admit it, we MAKE our kids go to these things because we LIKE THEIR PARENTS. Not just because the kids are close. Sometimes in spite of the fact that the kids are NOT close, we MAKE our kids go to parties because we don't want to hurt the feelings of the parents. Because we put ourselves in their shoes.

That's at least how my mind works. FBS has NEVER said no to a B-Mitzvah, or, for that matter, a birthday party, because I won't let him. Someone thought enough of him to invite him? Then he's going.

So it occurred to me that I need to put a metaphorical face on the metaphorical invite.

Amazingly enough, the transition from living in NYC to living in this small, small, closeknit town has been fairly easy for my children, my two boys. It has been fairly easy for me too. But right now, I see what it is lost: the history. The being known. The being someone to whom people feel the need to be accountable. For my children, what is lost is the long, long history with some of the kids, particularly with the girls.

And so, here I go, a little more crazy. The past few days, I've been joking about it. But today, the monster is truly growling and grousing and stomping and actually acting at least a little bit scary....


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