Shabbat Shalom, my little darlings.
A few weekends ago, I attended my first bar mitzvah in at least 20 years. I was lifted up by the spirit of the Torah. Or maybe that was the Manischewitz. Either way, I was ready to dance in circles and kvetch about my husband, so I was hoping the bar mitzvah would be my opportunity. I was sadly mistaken. Although the guy sitting behind me during the three hour (what the actual fuck?) ceremony in a ratty t-shirt and damp bathing trunks (Maui style) was open to discussing whatever was on our minds in a loud whisper behind his prayer shawl.
It was not exactly what I had in mind. But few things are, really.
Since I attended the last mitzvah Sam is jumping the grenade today, and I am staying home. He is prepared to rock the yarmulke - I am prepared to rock naptime.
I was going to go, but let's be honest: It's already 1 o'clock in the afternoon. I'm still in my nightgown, drinking a bottomless cup of coffee, and I thought to myself "I don't want to put on a bra and go to a religious ceremony right now." It's not like I attend religious ceremonies on the regular as it is. I should really be able to man up show my enthusiasm for this important rite of passage and yet....... I am not. The spirit is most definitely NOT willing, and the flesh is weak. And getting weaker with each passing year I might add. I should really be wearing a bra all the time at this point. But I digress.
Godless and braless, that's your little Daffodil.
I counted out $18 from my tips and sent the boys off, instructing them to buy a card on the way.
Then I sat here and worried that 18 - though supposedly a lucky number - was not enough. And 36, my next option according to my wisest Jewish friends, seemed like too much. Max still gets excited about $5. If everyone started giving him $36 for special events, I think he would get jaded. So really, I am giving a gift to the parents of this bar mitzvah by sending 18 dollars.
I am not cheap, I am preserving the magic of childhood. YOU ARE WELCOME.
1 day ago