A Momentary Case of Mistaken Identity

The other day I wrote this post.

It was a nice post. 
A sincere, written-from-the-heart kinda post.

But, I am NOT the woman who wrote that post.

No.

That post was written by a woman whose kids were still at school.
That post was written by a woman whose dogs had just been fed and walked.
That post was written by a woman who was sitting in her quiet house, drinking her favorite green tea, thinking she had accomplished a great deal.

That calm, reflective, introspective woman went missing a mere two hours after writing that post.

When her son came home with his first homework assignments and regressed to his tantrum-throwing, foul-mouthed self.

When her daughter, after being given questions to help her formulate her hopes, concerns and dreams for her Bat Mitzvah speech, came back with these (cough) heartfelt and thought out answers:

What does being Jewish mean to you? 

That I have to go to temple on my birthday.  That I have to learn Hebrew. 

What does having a Bat Mitzvah mean to you?  

Nothing.  I don't want one.

What have I learned from my Mitzvah (charity) project?

Nothing.

Oy.

No.  That woman, as much as she meant what she wrote in her last post, is loooooong gone. 

She's been busy screaming at her kids, waking at 2am to scribble errands on post its,  and having late night "can't catch her breath" panic attacks.

I am soooo not the woman who wrote that post.