Today was day 2 of sick Bochner Boys, which meant Mommy was home again. While I don’t mind some down time, too much of it is not good for my head. I’m the type that needs to be out and having life going on, and I need to see people besides my husband and son. This isn’t to say I don’t adore them both, but women need other women around. When I have too much time alone, it’s only a matter of time before I start wandering into dangerous neighborhoods in my head that I have no business being in.

There one in particular — let’s call it Projectionville — where scenes from my future play out with the worst possible results. Today my visit consisted of a post-new baby meltdown while my family wandered around homeless after our arrival back in the States. On-not-so great days, images like this send me right into the Pit of Anxiety (conveniently located off of the Fear Freeway). On better days, I have the good sense to pick up the phone and talk to someone about it before I decide to retreat forever into the Cave of Paralysis, where I can stew in self-pity and live off of moss for the rest of my days.

Today I went with option number two, and gave a ring to my friend Marlene in the States. Marlene is a mentor for young mothers (and a mother of two herself) so she was the perfect person to talk to about my anxieties about L.B.’s arrival in April. I must say that the call was one of my more brilliant moves; Marlene talked me down from the edge of the Pit and set me back on the path to the present moment. Apparently, my anxieties are normal, and every mother, whether she has 2 kids or 10, struggles to find that balance between motherhood and selfhood, no matter how together she seems on the outside. What a relief to know I’m not alone. Today, Marlene is at the top of my gratitude list.

I was able to escape for an hour this afternoon for a quick run to the grocery. Seth (Marlene’s son) is coming to stay with us for Shabbat and we’re having a slew of guests for lunch — Daniel, Rachel and Shmuel Yaakov Eden, Shloimie and two of his friends of Yeshiva — so I needed to stock up on goodies. While I was there I had two very interesting experiences. The first was at the checkout counter, where all was calm and business-as-usual until, suddenly, the alarm went off. It was an intense-sounding noise (almost like an air-raid drill) and I felt a grip in my chest. While I live in a peaceful, upscale neighborhood, that alarm was a blatant reminder that I do, in fact, live in Israel, one of the most politically-charged hotbeds of violence in the Middle East. Despite myself, I expected the store to start shaking with the falling of bombs; I almost abandoned my cart to run home to Shuie and Yonah. After about 30 seconds or so, the noise subsided and all went back to normal. But I was definitely shaken for a while afterward.

The other thing that happened was as I was leaving the store. I heard someone calling, “Rebbetzin,” and I looked up to see Tzaddok, a school friend of Shloimie’s who I met at our Simchat Beit HaShoeva. I guess he forgot my name, which is understandable, but I found it amusing that he chose to address me with the title of respect given to Rabbi’s wives (I guess he thought Shuie is a rabbi already). When I heard it, all I could think of was, “Who, me?”, but I also got a little thrill from it. I never would have thought this about myself, but becoming a Rebbetzin is something I’m actually really looking forward to, not just for the perks of being a rabbi’s wife (what exactly they are I’m not sure), but because one day I want to be a real “Rebbetzin”, a teacher for Jewish women. As strange as it was to hear, Gd willing soon it will be something I’ll have to get used to.

I was going to keep the menu simple for this Shabbat, but you know me: I’ve got to do at least one interesting thing. Right now I’m making cornbread-stuffed butternut squash with apples. Wish me luck!