As the Bar Mitzvah approaches, tensions are mounting in the Mendell household.  At the current rate, we should hit Defcom 5 in approximately 8 days.  Interestingly, the tensions seem to be exclusively centered on one individual: Moi.  If anything, this process has been a stark reminder that I live with three laid back dudes.  Married the first one and somehow gave birth to two more whose blood pressure and heart rate remain at unflappably low levels regardless of circumstance.  If we were observed on Animal Planet, I think the commentary would go something like this:

Watch closely as the female feverishly circles her family, barking orders, then retreating and muttering to herself, only to return several more times to bark again at her mate and offspring who have no interest in her attempts to dominate them.  They may look up for a moment but for the most part ignore her convulsions and continue with their activities.  Defeated the female engrosses herself in a myriad of tasks deemed crucial to her but pointless to the male species of the den.

It’s true.  In some ways I am eternally grateful that Noah has been completely chill about the huge amount of Hebrew he has had to learn.  And who wants an uptight, control freak  little brother?  And with Dave being completely passive about most things, I can make decisions more efficiently.  (For the record, Dave has done everything I have asked, including some major to-dos.  And I only had to ask him a few times.)

But when it comes to details, Dave and the brothers do not care what ties they are wearing to the Bar Mitzvah.  They don’t care who is sitting with whom. They don’t care if the adult place cards and the kid place cards are on the same table or not.  They don’t care whether or not our out-of-town guests have some suggestions on where to eat dinner on Friday evening.  They don’t care if we have enough candy to put out for the kids. They don’t care about the programs for the service or extra song sheets for the guests.  I don’t think there is much that they are dwelling on at all – which is where I enter the picture.  I dwell, therefore I am.

I don’t make these statements as criticism – more like a meditation.  Not caring certainly liberates oneself from a host of ills.  But there are consequences for not caring too, because tasks that are actually important don’t get done.  Like making sure the ladies room at the synagogue has a basket full of hairspray and tampons.  This is very, very  important  Luckily, I am caring for everyone.

Because that’s what I do.  That’s what Moms do.

The female watches her tribe as they go about their daily activities, oblivious to the frenetic level of lunacy around them.  Despite their differences, she adores them as evidenced by her thoughtful gaze, her gentle touch and the fact that her crazy self has yet to kill anyone in their sleep.
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