We live in an age of man-made miracles, and anyone who has ever ordered something online would surely agree.
I can simply call out to my phone and then will have gluten-free protein waffles made from regeneratively grown tapioca on my doorstep within the hour. (That is absolutely something I have done.)
So, when I woke up the morning of the Ugly Holiday Sweater Group Run in mid-December and decided that my toddler simply must have a Hanukkah blanket on his lap in the stroller when we go for the run that night, it was no problem. Amazon same-day delivery and Target’s drive-up were made for such emergencies.
Think again.
Let me fill you in. It was mid-December, and I was closing in on 10 weeks of leave after the birth of our third child. I was nursing every two hours, my husband was traveling for business that week, and I thought, “Yes. Absolutely. I shall strap a two-month-old and two-year-old into a stroller and run around in a park with my tween son and a hundred strangers to enjoy decorated trees and Christmas carols on a saxophone. We shall do the ugly sweater 5K, but it cannot be done without a Hanukkah blanket.”
We must represent our people, of course.
First stop, as any parent of my generation knows, is Amazon. The app is of course filled with darling options, all fleecy and warm, all blue or white or yellow and patterned straight up in Jewish joy. But – what’s this? It’ll be here… tomorrow? Not a single Hanukkah blanket could arrive before the run.
Next stop: Target. But no store between here and Lee’s Summit had a Hanukkah blanket. I would need to drive how far? No thank you!
By now, almost all of you are rolling your eyes for one of two reasons:
- You are of a more reasonable generation that realizes the absurdity of expecting to buy a blanket for a holiday that is celebrated by less than 3% of the population with only a few hours’ notice, or…
- You can’t believe there’s more to this story and I didn’t just give up on the stupid blanket.
Nevertheless, I persisted. Right after dropping two children off at their schools, my baby and I head to a craft store that some friends of mine wouldn’t even deign to enter. There we buy a white fleece blanket with blue stars (regular, not Jewish) and bright yellow fabric.
At home I cut out of the yellow fabric the wonkiest menorah shape anyone has ever seen, and, because I’m worried that my ancient sewing machine can’t handle fleece, I stitch on the menorah blanket by hand.
Because my children absolutely must have a Hanukkah blanket. Now.
“Now,” though, is relative, as more than six hours have passed since I began this absurd adventure, there is yellow fleece is floating in every room of the house, the laundry (and all other household tasks) is piling up, and I absolutely could have driven to and from the Lee’s Summit Target numerous times to buy numerous Hanukkah blankets.
The surprise ending is not a surprise at all. I presented an ugly blanket to a two-year-old who couldn’t care less.
I tell this story with a good deal of self-deprecating laughter. What was I thinking? What is the point where I should have given up? Being a parent, it seems, is just as much about knowing when to stop as it is about going above and beyond for your children. Mine were perfectly happy to be the stand-out Jews with our dreidel headbands and light-up menorah moose stuffies.
Next year, though, I’ll order those blankets on Amazon at least a good 24 hours in advance.
