I woke up early this morning and had time to check the news.
I was going to write about the attempt by four Black Muslims to blow up a synagogue and a Jewish community center in Riverdale that was (thank God) thwarted by the FBI.
I was going to write about the SKA girl in the Five Towns who has recovered from swine flu.
I was going to write about the surprise we felt last night when the wrong guy was voted the winner in American Idol.
And I was going to tell you about the woman from Louisiana who discovered her long-lost brother living across the street from her.
But then the phone rang. And I made the stupid mistake of picking it up.
It was my ex-mother in law, of course. I should have known. She always calls in the morning. With the seven hour time difference between NY and Tel Aviv, my morning is her afternoon, and she calls from work so that she doesn't have to pay for the call.
I know that she means well. She wants to check in, hear that everything's OK, and talk to the kids. After all, she's still their grandmother, blah blah blah. But it's been 9 years since she's seen my kids. Despite numerous invitations she has never gotten on a plane and come to visit her grandchildren (and let me just say that I think it was very generous of me to invite her, considering the circumstances). She used to send them some crap that she picked up from the shuk in Ramle twice a year, but that's stopped. She knows (because I've told her) that her precious son has not seen, spoken to, or supported his children in any way for over 5 years. She has done nothing (as far as I know) to change that, nor has she ever once asked me if we have what we need or offered any help (and yes, there is money in that family). She and her family did not attend Flash's Bar Mitzvah nor did they send him a present. When I or one of the kids have asked which country my ex-husband is currently living in, she wouldn't give a straight answer. All she does is call us, complain that we don't call her, complain that I'm not sending the kids to Israel to go visit her, complain that my kids don't speak fluent Hebrew and therefore find it difficult to talk to her...
I suppose she's a nice enough woman, but she drives me crazy.
And for hours after she calls, I can't think about anything else.
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