My time as a blogger for the Deb Ball is over, which is both sad—I enjoyed the camaraderie of the group blog—and happy—my book has launched and I’m now working on my sophomore effort. What that means, though, in theory is that I will be back on this blog more frequently. I have nothing but time to write, right? The summer was whirlwind, with lots of research in New York, a family trip to Sicily, and contemplating the next novel.

The kids are back in school, so I’ve been asked fairly frequently, “How’s the writing going? Are you almost done with the next book?”

The answer to this is simple: It’s not going. And I’m not even close to done. Why? Simple. My writing has temporarily been put on hold as a new beast has taken over my life: My son’s bar mitzvah.

Practicing his Torah reading

Practicing his Torah reading

Tomorrow, my son becomes a man. Or at least a boy-child who has the responsibilities of an adult in the eyes of the Jewish community. Yes, the boy who regularly comes downstairs with his shirt on backwards (“Is it? I hadn’t noticed”) and who can be told twelve times not to forget his viola only to walk out the door empty-handed and who woke up just this past week at midnight and didn’t bother to look at the clock and just assumed it was 6 a.m. so he headed to the shower—that boy will now be held accountable for his moral obligations and religious duties. (I know these are mild examples of his misdeeds but he’s now old enough that I can’t publicly out him on his more dopey endeavors. As I posted on Twitter, I asked my son, “Would it embarrass you if I tweeted–” And he cut in, “If you have to ask, yes.” So there goes all my good material.)

Can you see him peeking up? That's my guy reading Torah at the weekday service as practice. He'll have a step stool on Saturday.

Can you see him peeking up? That’s my guy reading Torah at the weekday service as practice. He’ll have a step stool on Saturday.

My life has been putting together centerpieces, writing parental blessings, printing programs, putting together favors, figuring out what the DJ should play… The list goes on. The boy has been focused on the service itself and the rest of the family just mutters, “I don’t care. Whatever you want,” which is SO helpful.

But tomorrow it’ll all have been worth it. My Xbox-playing, daydreaming, where-did-I-leave-my-homework boy will become a responsible Jewish adult. Wait, hold on—

Sorry, had to get the laughing fit out of the way.

Deep breaths. And next week, I return to the writing.