The Morning after my Book Mitzvah

It was a wild party yesterday. So wild, in fact, that I passed out at 8:30 p.m. from all of the excitement that came with telling the entire Interwebs that I wrote a book. I’m calling it my Book Mitzvah – the day I took public responsibility for having written a book. 

If you’ve never been to a Bar or Bat Mitzvah, you need to become friends with a 12 year-old Jewish child immediately (or maybe don’t, because that would be creepy). I was incredibly awkward in middle school (imagine braces, head gear and an oversized Starter jacket), and much to my surprise, didn’t have many friends of the male variety. Consequently, I was never invited to a Bar Mitzvah, but I have attended three Bat Mitzvahs, and let me tell you the truth: those three parties still rank in the TOP 5 parties I’ve attended in my entire life, weddings included. They come complete with themes, food for days, non-stop dancing, and haphazardly throwing a child up in the air while they cling for dear life to a chair. It is a recipe for greatness.

Desiring a similar level of festivity for this monumental occasion, I threw myself a Book Mitzvah. The news launch was scheduled for 8:00 a.m., which left the entire day for huge celebration. Unfortunately, I didn’t get the invites out in time and only had two attendees. Since they are family – and by law need someone to watch over them at all times – they basically had to come.  But, that’s ok, it’s about quality not quantity, right? So, on to the party.

First stop: Breakfast celebration! It’s a party after all, so you can order whatever you’d like. My oldest guest requested yogurt with a spoon. Easy. Done. Yogurt removed from the fridge, lid peeled off, spoon out of the drawer, plopped into the yogurt…cue earth-shattering screams and tears flowing like the Colorado River.  
“I WANTED TO PUT THE SPOON IN THE YOGURT!” he cried. Oh, of course. How could I be so ignorant and helpful? He sent that yogurt back as if I had served him raw meat with a hairball on top. Redo on the yogurt. This time I nailed it and was able to stop the first party foul from bringing down the house. 

On to my next guest. This little guy requested an “egg in a hole” - a Rich family favorite. (You fry an egg in the middle of a buttered-up piece of toast and try to tell me it doesn't make your family's list of culinary masterpieces. Not possible.) It is the quintessential party food, and the smell of hot butter on the stove really put me in the spirit.  It’s my party, I thought, I might as well make myself one!  Perfect. Two "eggs in a hole" all cooked up and ready to be served.  Plated, delivered, and personally cut up to accommodate for this guest’s small mouth and limited teeth.  I turned around to grab the most delicious part of the meal, my coffee, only to resume eye contact with the youngest guest who was now feeding his highly requested meal to the dog. 

This Book Mitzvah was off to a great start.

Hoping the rocky start was simply a fluke, I decided to pump up the party with some Peppa Pig to go around.  Since my guests aren’t even old enough to wipe themselves, I thought Peppa and George could get them in the Book Mitzvah spirit. Turns out, they were feeling more of a frat house vibe and less of a classy Book Mitzvah vibe, because by the time I came to join them after breakfast cleanup, the guests were completely naked in the living room. Obviously. Because boys need exactly zero reasons to take their clothes off - especially since it is so difficult to attend to their favorite appendage with clothes on. Wanting to squash this type of enthusiasm as quickly as possible, I had a brilliant party idea: Let’s go to the beach!

We piled in the van and headed to one of our favorite spots.  THIS. Try to hate it.

After an hour of celebration in paradise, we were forced to leave because the oldest guest decided he wanted to be a dictator and began disallowing other beach goers to enter the water. (Some of whom were our actual friends who had come with us to celebrate!)  Not wanting any more negativity for my Book Mitzvah, we loaded back up, only to receive this kind of enthusiasm:

The beach trip ended with mandatory nap times for all. I celebrated naptime with a cup of coffee and my favorite music playing in the background: SILENCE.  By the time the boys woke up from their naps, I knew we only had a couple more hours to redeem this Book Mitzvah.

For party favors, I thought we might get lucky by finding some fun junk mail in the mailbox that I could convince the guests was sent specifically for them.  Without even trying, there happened to be a small package addressed to ONE of my guests.  Perfect, I thought, An ACTUAL party favor.  Upon opening the package, I realized that no greater gift could arrive on such a celebratory day than this: A Red Whistle.  From the Grandparents.  Few days in my life go by without me praying this specific prayer: "Lord, bring more noisemakers into my life.  Bull horns, whistles, drums, kazoos.  I want them all. I beseech Thee to honor this desire in my heart." God answered loud and clear.  Except for one small detail.  There was only ONE red whistle.  Which then caused this to happen:

This Book Mitzvah wasn't quite turning out how I anticipated.  

And then, I heard from YOU. And YOU! And yes, YOU!. Every share, every like, every comment, every post.  I read Every. Single. One. and cried like a baby.  Before I clicked "Post" yesterday, I literally counted in my head, "1, 2, 3, JUMP!"  And the crazy thing is, I didn't know where I was going to land. I still don't.  But, I am so incredibly humbled by each and every one of you willing to walk through this journey with me. My village people, don't you ever leave me. As you can already tell, I need you like my sons need that red whistle: DESPERATELY.