The big bar mitzvah weekend in Dallas is over. My stepmom and her family are Jewish, so I've attended a handful of Jewish services, weddings and funerals and the like, but I've never attended a full service. It was three hours long, mostly in Hebrew, with more sitting and standing than a Catholic Mass, which until now I have always considered the pinnacle of strenuous religious tedium.
But my cousin did great, by all accounts, the rabbis were warm and funny, and at least you can kind of move around and talk a little during the prayers. (Unlike church, where my sister and I were reduced to amusing ourselves by noiselessly and relentlessly digging our thumbnails into each others' arms. The first one to wrench away, whimper, or giggle lost and risked getting yelled at on the way home. Often we'd draw blood before anyone surrendered. I really didn't like going to church.)
The post-bar mitzvah party was insane. Picture a totally fun carnival, except substitute a buffet table with pad thai and rack of lamb for the funnel cake stand and patch in some solemnly attentive hotel staff in place of the leering carnies. I availed myself of the chocolate-dipping fountain and the open bar while the kids danced with the hired MC, made music videos, rode a virtual surfboard, got their fortunes told, and jostled for the neverending shower of schwag that was flung from the stage.
And did I bring my camera to record this frenzy? I did not. But I did get some dress-up pictures:
My boy looks adorable in a yarmulke.
My boy looks okay in a paper Steak 'n' Shake frycook hat.
Oh, and here's the graffiti that awaited me when I got back in the car at the Waxahachie rest stop.
Aww.
Vickie gets here tomorrow in about 26 hours, and I have the whole week off to entertain and be entertained by her. This pleases me greatly. I have to go wash my sheets now because that is just good hostessing.