Crap, with a side of ugh.

Tomorrow is Tisha B'Av, another one of those "holidays" that tells you that anyone who thinks we're the Chosen People is seriously deluded, man. (I will totally not be offended if you skip down to the part of this post that's actually about my kids.)

It's a fast day -- just like Yom Kippur. Now, when people from other religions hear "fast day," they don't get it. For us, it's 25 hours of NOTHING. No water, no food, and you're not even supposed to brush your teeth. Good times.

Ordinarily, I would be looking for some kind of rabbinic permission not to fast, since I'm nursing. There isn't an official, blanket permission -- in fact, just the opposite. Even pregnant and nursing women are required to fast on this day. But ordinarily I'd still be trying my hand at calling some particularly lenient rabbi to get my exemption. Not this year. Too much is at stake.

Forgive me a bit here -- I don't mean for this blog to be particularly religious, but the whole Jew thing is kind of a big part of who I am, so, just bear with me. Anyway. The tsunami, Katrina -- when those tragedies occurred, it felt to me like we're living in the modern day times of Noah. That this is the warning Gd gives, the wake up call. "You see what I can do? I created it, I can destroy it. I promised not to flood the whole earth again, but you people are REALLY. TESTING. MY. PATIENCE."

So. Tisha B'Av. This is historically a bad time for the Jews. As in, really, really bad. And (ha, ha) you might not have heard about it -- I don't know how much coverage it's getting in the English-language press -- but Israel's fighting a war right now. No, really. And it's become one of those "fight to the death" things, and it's a big deal. So I really feel compelled to fast properly, much though I don't want to.

And of course, since it's all about me -- and my kids -- there's more.

Mr. WG announced the other night that he can't find Baby J's soft spot. Baby J. is almost 7 months old. "I'm very worried about this," says Mr. WG. "I think he needs to see the pediatrician."

"Fine," I said. "Then you call and make the appointment, and you take him."

You know, there's a difference between saying, "Hey, WG, there's a big pile of crap. Why don't you deal with it?" and saying, "Hey, WG, there's a big pile of crap. Here, you sit here and drink a nice glass of wine and munch on this tray of Zoloft, and I'll go clean up the crap, sanitize the floor, and buy a new mop."

So he called and made the appointment for tomorrow. And he's taking Baby J. So I have to fast. Because that's how it works, you know? You don't want to take chances and mess with Gd the day your kid's soft spot is being checked for... well, I don't know exactly for what, but for something.

Yeah. So. We'll see.