My - oops, I mean his - Mitzvah project is done...

I'd like to say that Bar Mitzvahzilla painstakingly designed his own Mitzvah Project, carefully alligning it with his Torah portion, with his inclinations, and with the causes that are near and dear to him in the world. Right. Weeks and then months went by with Husband and I nagging more and more loudly, "What about your Mitzvah project?" and Bar Mitzvahzilla alternating between two responses: 1) "I don't know, what do you think, Mom?", and 2) "How come the Israeli kids never do Mitzvah projects?" (he based this on a one-friend survey.)

So, to cut to the chase, I just want to say that there's the theory, the image in the mind, and then there's the reality. He finally chose collecting for a homeless shelter that moves families into independent housing. This involved setting up collection boxes at three central locations and figuring out how to get word out that they were standing there waiting for donations. I, it turns out, have a flair for public relations. Bar Mitzvahzilla is now locally famous, with notices appearing in the Phoenix paper, the local Jewish paper, in our synagogue newletter, and emails sent to everyone we know. In 115 degree Phoenix, we've been schlepping a lot of donations.

But there had to be an end date and a haul-it-in-to-the-shelter date. In our safe little world, we had an image of what this looked like, somewhat based on their website. We imagined some Horatio Alger thing, families struggling to right themselves, and us, patronizingly swooping in from above, carrying bags of stuff, like a family of Jewish Santa Clauses. I imagined a photo of Bar Mitzvahzilla with the director as he handed over all this stuff he collected, shaking hands, and maybe a certificate of some type, like those really big checks they make up for photo opportunities.

Here's what happened instead. We drive to a very scary part of town where there are gang members strolling the street. The evening attendant is in an office that has an inner gate and an outer gate to protect her, layers of security. There are kids of every age running wild everywhere, screaming and swearing, and calling each other names that, if anyone else used them, would get them killed. We deliver a truck and SUV-load of stuff. It is unloaded into an empty storage bin, then locked. We drive away.

Envelope Stuffing

The invitations went out on Wednesday. My best friend was willing to sit around for a couple hours and stuff envelopes with me despite being in daily radiation treatment for highly treatable cancer, which I didn't take her up on. I somehow knew that 1) When someone has cancer it's time for them to impose on you, not vice versa, and, 2) it would be a nightmare that would require intimate knowledge of the addressees to accomplish. There were envelopes that had to be pulled aside because people are moving and I need some lag time, envelopes that need the "Kosher food available" insert, and there are envelopes for the people I'm still rebelling against inviting but somehow Husband invited them because they wandered in the carpet store in the last 6 months. No helper possible.

So the invitations are out and now all I have to worry about is whether anyone will come or if it'll be like the old Mary Tyler Moore show where she'd have a party and just Ted Baxter would come and she'd stand around for hour after agonizing hour talking to him. And, assuming people will come, I have to worry about whether any of the kids will dance, whether we'll go bankrupt paying for it, whether it's going to look like some garish American idiocy instead of the Jewish event I want it to look like. I can figure out a lot of things to worry about.

Instead, here's what I'm going to do: I'm going to keep bringing food to my best friend since she doesn't feel like eating and it turns out that all the garbage I feed my kids is exactly what she wants right now and what will keep her from wasting away to nothing, and then, somehow in the middle of her second infusion of chemotherapy, I am going to leave on a cruise with my family. Great timing.

Taste Testing

Today my husband, I, and Bar Mitzvahzilla went to the hotel to taste test the possible dishes for the party. We sat alone in the somewhat out of date restaurant while I thought a few things:
1) Hey, this place didn't look this run down 6 months ago when I booked it.
2) I could redo this decor with $50,000 bucks (watching too much hgtv)
3) Thank goodness the party is not going to be in the restaurant.

Then we made our decisions. Jicama field green salad, Thyme chicken, asparagus and baby carrots, and new potatoes. Of course, since I'm in a 12-step program for my food I could only eat one bite of each thing. And since I'm lactose intolerant, I had to keep popping lactase pills. And because I haven't eaten dessert in eight years, I had to pass on the dessert decision. And since I haven't drank liquor in eight years too, I don't quite get the open bar but we're doing it anyway. I am just loads of fun to have around.

So, since we want to do something fun for the kids, like hats, I've been trying to put a Jewish spin on that, like a hat shaped like a stovepipe but a shabbat candle. I asked my son what he thought about that and he said, "How about pimp hats?" Well that's pretty Jewish, I guess. I read an article about prostitution in Israel once. Maybe I can tie that in...

Living in Bar Mitzvahland

I know I'm not the first person to plan their son's Bar Mitzvah but I've decided I need an outlet to write about it and, for the first time, I don't want to do that privately. Since my son somehow got his mind wrapped around this idea of a REALLY big Bar Mitzvah (from his cousin's a few years ago - ignoring the fact that my sister has a lot more money than we do) here are the really stupid things I'm giving him:

printed kippahs
calligraphied invitations
being danced around on a chair
all of his friends

What I won't give in on - that stupid candle-lighting ceremoney - is this Jewish? We decided we'd set up a few candles only to remember family members who aren't there to celebrate the joyous event with us and because in Judaism it's always important to temper joy with sorrow (such as smashing the glass at the wedding.) No videographer running around making everyone hold the mike and gush to my son. No "this is your life" photo montage playing endlessly on a monitor in the room.

My son and I agree on no theme for the party that has nothing to do with being Jewish, and the colors of the Israeli flag for the tables.

But it's like holding back a tidal wave. The other day we got a "save the date" for one of his friends and it was a snow globe with the girl's picture in it.

This is not going to be the biggest thing that happens to my son in his life. When he gets to the chuppah, we'll talk.