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.

13 January 2010

February 27 is 45 days away.

But wait. There's more. Although First Born Son's bar mitzvah is February 27, and we have obligated ourselves through the invitation which has now long since been sent through the mail, we are also having a SECOND party on February 28. The "Kid's Party"...at a nightclub in a nearby downtown promises no guests over the age of...er, well, approximately my age. All cocktails purveyed over the long, long bar that takes up the entire length of the club shall be mocktails: Mocktinis, Cosmockplitans, Tommy Collinses, Little Manhattans, and, of course, the ubiquitous Shirley Temple (who IS Shirley anyway, right FBS?).

Preparations have been made. The FBS has been studying his torah and haftorah portions and learning to chant. The fabulous dress has been purchased (mine). The fabulous shoes as well (mine). Suits have been sized and tailored (theirs - the FBS, the Second Born and the Husband) at the Raaawthmans, that place in Scahhhhsdale. The Kiddush Brunch has been planned at a nice hotel in a nearby suburb. Endless conversations about floor plans and timelines have taken place between the Husband and me. Endless, endless conversations, accompanied by the endless bottles of Cabernet Sauvignon needed to get through said endless conversations. The DJ for the Kid Party has been secured, the Kid Party venue has been visited with said DJ to assess the needs of said venue, which, it turns out, include...a DANCE FLOOR. Yes, I have secured a club that has no dance floor. Must pay extra for that!

Note to self: for SB's bar mitzvah, should I be insane enough to have one, check for dance floor at venue.

Sweatshirts with logos designed by FBS have been mocked up.

The decorator, which in my day (the days of my wedding 16 years ago), was referred to as a "florist", has prepared a plan.

Kippahs (kippot? whatever) have been picked out, although not yet ordered.

And other mundane stuff that matters but won't come to a head just yet...

But all of that, all of that....means NOTHING!! NOTHING!!!! I mean, NOTHING.

All that matters to me, the only thing that has any relevance in my life these days is the contents of that evil, malicious, mocking box that stands a few feet off the ground at the edge of my driveway. Which is to say, my mailbox. My mailbox has become my new best friend and my most detestable enemy.

Every day, I say, "I will leave my house today even if the mail has not arrived."

Yesterday, I managed it - school trip. Had to. But most days, not so much. Most days, I wait, and I wait. Will today be the day that brings the RSVPs for all of the popular girls that FBS invited so that the popular boys would have "their" girls to dance with (and by "dance", I might mean something they call "grind"...don't even get me started)? Will today bring all of the RSVP's from the Husband's office? The RSVP's from my law school friends? Will they be YES? YES? Please say yes. Because who wants to throw a party if nobody comes. What happens if a party happens and nobody is there to see it? I mean, can we talk existential bar mitzvah crisis fears here?

What about the camp friends coming from far away? Is it too soon to call them and offer assistance in getting to the boondocks where I live?

Today, I took a Hail Mary pass at one of them. He had already declined, and he had declined another friend of FBS (all of them go to camp together). But I had this sense, this sixth sense, that the decline was not about a conflicting party or any sort of dis. My sense was that this was about logistics. And so, I called Camp Friend's Mom. Turns out, yes, Camp Friend DESPERATELY wanted to come to FBS's bar mitzvah (as well as the other camp friend's). Yada yada yada, we worked out the logistics, and one sleepover, one Manhattan carpool, one trip to Bowlmor Lanes (or ESPN Zone, whichever is the case), Camp Friend will be at FBS's bar mitzvah AND at Other Camp Friend.

Ah. Good deeds. Gotta love them, right? Until it is proven that none goes unpunished. But perhaps today is a good day. The mail is due in an hour or so, after all.

This is Barmitzvazilla. Stomp stomp stomp, stay tuned til next time, good townspeople. And when you see me stomping through your villages, do not be afraid. It is just me. Barmitzvazilla...planning my FBS's bar mitzvah. And it has to be PERFECT. RAWR!!!


Anonymous said...

All I can say is ridiculous! Sounds like your own version of "My Sweet Sixteen" show. I think it is sad when an important rites of passage for kids is marked with so much materialism of the big party. Especially since even that is not going to keep the terrible teens stuff from happening, no matter what.
Good Luck!!

Anonymous said...

Of course it's ridiculous. I'm turned into a MONSTER!!! That's the point.


Anonymous said...

Stop obsessing over the mailbox. Have your close friends already RSVP'd? Has FBS's close friends already RSVP'd? Then all others are icing on the cake. Don't despair- your parties will be fabulous.

BUT, MOST IMPORTANTLY, FBS WILL BE FABULOUS!!! He's going to be a star and you should focus on how special he is and how special the meaning of the day is. Don't forget what is really important!

Anonymous said...

So does this mean no yoga for the next 45 days? Cause that's a whole lot more interesting to read about :)

Anonymous said...

Hey it is your sister!
I love BMZ.
Bring it on, at least you have a sense of humor about it...