Wednesday we met a potential Bat Mitzvah prep tutor. That was sort of a disaster. I forgot the meeting that my sister had carefully sent to my calendar and rushed in late and discombobulated. I embarrassed Rose by telling the tutor she worries about doing enough homework. I got mad at the tutor for presuming Rose should practice half an hour a day, every day, for six months. This expectation seems absurd to me and shows an obliviousness to the amount of practice really necessary given Rose's current level of Hebrew and knowledge of the prayers and an arrogance about the importance of Bat Mitzvah prep as opposed to all the competing interests in Rose's life. Yes, Bat Mitzvah prep takes precedence over dance class, science class, and regular school. But it doesn't take precedence over getting enough downtime to read and play games with her family. And then, despite all those bad vibes, we went ahead and hired the tutor. Rose insisted she didn't like the tutor, but I suspect the bad vibe was fear about the serious start of prep.

We are all feeling better a few days later. I talked the tutor down on the amount of homework, and Rose agreed to meet with her three times and then decide if she wanted to continue. The tutor also happens to be half the price of everyone else and willing to come to our homes.

Friday was second and third grade family night at Shabbat services. That meant our whole family went. It was great. David read Garfield the whole time, except when he was volunteering his opinion. All the second and third graders went up to the bima to lead us in Sh'ma and then stayed for a few songs and activities. David decided to push the limits and sit on the bima. I let the rabbi handle it, and David eventually stood up. The service was short, fine, and I had a chance to socialize with some parents.

Today, Rose and I went to a double Bat Mitzvah. That's how they do it at our synagogue because there are so many kids. I cried the whole way through. The girls were so mature. Everything went beautifully--their public speaking, their leading us in the prayers, their reading of the Torah, and their little sermons. I particularly cried when the Torah was passed down from the grandparents and they the parents gave their blessings.

Tomorrow I take the kids to synagogue again for Sunday School. I schmooze a bit and they rush home to work on poetry, unless I change my mind and decide to go for a walk with a bunch of other Jewish parents.

Monday, I am going to my neighbor's bris.

And I think of myself as not particularly observant.