This month, I initiated myself into a new exclusive club. The initiation rites were frustratingly annoying, as intiation rites usually are, but once you are in, you're in for life- or at least for what seems like a life sentence.
What did I do to get inducted into this exclusive club? Well, it's not really what I did, but rather what my daughter did, and rather not what she did, but what was done to her. You see, I joined the IMC- Israeli Mothers' Club. This club involves all mommies, Imas, Mamas, and other assorted names, who are now living with their children in Israel.
What is this induction rite of which I speak? Well, the classical one of course. It's a four letter word that might be one of those 10 plagues that God struck Egypt with in days gone by. And yes, my daughter had it.
Yes, I freaked out. No, I had dealt with it before. Yes, I still freaked out. Yes, I called my former neighbor, the Ganenet, who responded with those famous acceptance words: Welcome to the IMC. You're in it for life now.
And then she proceeded to tell me how to handle the scourge that had taken over my house, and most heads in the house as well.
And then I cried. Because, I don't know if I can do this- be the Israeli mother that my kids will probably expect me to be- capable, unflappable, courageous, that strong and comfortable shoulder to lean on, and lap to hug and cuddle.
If I can't even handle a common pest, how could I deal with the greater things that go along with being an Israeli Ima? What will I do one day when a future son turns 18? What will I do on my daughter's first day of real gan in the Israeli school system? And there are so many more milestones that I don't even know about in being an Ima here in this Holy Land?
If a little tiny thing like this moves me to tears- what will be?
But for now, I squared my shoulders, and dealt with it. Rosemary shampoo and conditioner, nice fine toothed combs- and a clean household once again. Welcome to the IMC, you're in it for life. Hatzlacha Rabba.
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