Is it Friday already?
What a week.
Is everyone as nervous about the economy as I am?
I've alternated my time between discussing the news with the MOMocrats , dealing with my daughter's middle school (I've started round two of my quest to balance her life somewhat) - and working at my virtual assistant job. (If I have to print out another mailing label I will scream. No, wait. I have five more mailings to do before next week. I'll save the screams for Halloween.)
And this week, I started planning my daughter's Bat Mitzvah, which is set for a date in April.
"You should have gotten on top of this six months ago," my very competent friend Faith said, shaking her head. She's good at planning this kind of event. I took her to lunch yesterday so I could pick her brain.
"So you're planning to do it at the Temple," she continued. "That's good, but it's like a great big hall. You will need to get a deejay to emcee and provide some entertainment."
I agreed. I did not have a Bat Mitzvah myself. I haven't a clue how to run a shindig like this, and I like the idea of leaving it up to a professional.
She went on. "Mark [the deejay of choice at our congregations Bar Mitzvah circuit] is probably booked by now, but he might know someone who's available, and might cost you less. I'll call him for you."
I guess I should mention that my budget is minuscule. For years, I warned my daughter that whatever we did, would have to be low key. That's why I scheduled her ceremony for a Saturday morning service -- luncheons usually cost less than dinners.
But now that we're six months out, my kid has other ideas. She wants a big party at night. She wants the deejay. She wants to get hoisted on a chair.
It's too late to change the service to evening - that's already booked. "But you can still have the reception in the evening," Faith said encouragingly. "How many people are on your guest list?"
I had put together a list over the weekend and was relieved to count only 50-60 close friends and family who were certain to show up. I had been relieved when I saw a quote from the Temple caterer, based on 100 guests. It was reasonable. I had been starting to feel as if this party was NOT going to throw me into the poor house.
But Faith's eyes widened in horror when I told her. "That's ALL? Then you really can't do it at the Temple. The room is too big."
She suggested a local restaurant that would fit the bill. "And it's pretty. You wouldn't need to worry about decorations."
I liked that idea. It's simple, and I'm all about the simple. So I gave them a call, discovered they had a room available and asked them to send me their catering menus.
But there was bad news: "Our prices are going up on the 26th. We need a $500 non-refundable deposit before that date for you to get these prices."
Gulp. Nothing like a little pressure, you know? I wondered if I should be planning a big party at a time like this.
I put away that thought.
I know the restaurant, I know how nice it can be, and it seemed to fill the bill.
This morning, I decided to update my daughter. I told her the good news: That we could, conceivably, have the service in the morning and delay the reception until the evening. But we would have to hold the party in a restaurant.
She has her heart set on the Temple. I don't know why; maybe because so many people we know do it that way.
I told her there are lots of restaurants that will have party rooms and banquet facilities, and that I was talking to the catering manager at [name of restaurant].
"I don't want to have it there," she whined.
I told her that Faith advised us that the room at the Temple was too big, and besides, we couldn't have an evening reception there.
"I hate that place," she said.
I pointed out that she's never BEEN there.
"I've seen the outside and I don't like it."
I told her that's too bad; we have a budget and we don't have a lot of places.
"It's MY Bat Mitzvah!" she cried.
I'M paying for it, I told her.
She huffed past me, into her room. By the time she'd finished getting ready for school, she was calm again, and remained that way on the drive. But I was being careful not to bring up the subject again. Instead, I listened to NPR's reporting on the nation's worst financial crisis since the Great Depression. This was only slightly less disturbing than arguing with my daughter some more over her party.
After I dropped her off, I started putting together a budget spreadsheet. I opened up the menus the restaurant sent and immediately saw that it was out of the question. We would have to go back to Plan A: A luncheon in the Temple's social hall.
My friend, Mary Ellen (whose daughter goes to school AND gym with my mine), told me that the Bat Mitzvah is ALL Megan's talks about when she's driving carpool. Apparently, Megan is asking Maggie her opinion on everything from the dancing to the guest list.
I had no idea she was becoming this excited about it. This is turning into a clash of different expectations. From the time she was born and I thought about the possibility of doing this, I envisioned a simple celebration with our closest family and friends -- not an elaborate to-do on par with a wedding. We are going to have to find some middle ground. Unfortunately for my daughter, our budget will dictate an event closer to the one I have in mind.
Mary Ellen thinks we can make it nice, even with the limitations of the big, unattractive room.
"We can roll in some trellises to create a smaller space and decorate those so they'll be pretty," she suggested. "And we can come up with a theme that will make it fun for Megan."
She has some experience with this. She studied Art and Theater in college. She's a professional costumer. She's really good at crafts and knows how to shop for bargains. These are all things I don't do well.
"Really, it's going to be all right," she said soothingly. "We just have to get Megan excited about what you CAN do."
I'm really looking forward to THAT conversation.
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