Around 2000 of years ago (about as long ago as your last poop in solitude), a Greek king named Antiochus tried to force the Jewish people to give up their religion and bow down to the Greek gods (like the Pinterest moms pressure us to worship our kids on social media). The Jews rebelled and formed a small army called the Maccabees (scrappy badasses… sound familiar?). Though outnumbered by the thousands, the Maccabees defeated the king. In the meantime, however, the Greeks destroyed the holy Jewish temple (like when you leave your toddler alone for five minutes in the room you just tidied up… but way worse). The Maccabees were strong in spirit (picture a 3-year-old who insists on buckling herself into her car seat), and they decided to rebuild the temple. While they were working, they had only enough oil to light their menorah for one night. (Fun fact: a menorah is actually just a candelabra with seven branches, but the Chanukah – the Chanukah Menorah – has nine.) The oil burned inexplicably for eight whole nights (sort of like when you overcome devastating sleep deprivation and mom so hard you surprise even yourself), and thus the miracle of Hanukkah began! From then on, Jews have celebrated their victory of religious freedom and the miracle of burning oil by lighting a Chanukah for eight nights.
But here’s the deal, gentile MOTYs, we parents channel the spirit of the Maccabbees all the time: we are determined, strong and capable of surviving the unthinkable on a daily basis. We have had our sacred shit destroyed by our children, have had our freedom stolen from us by those in our home (though we actually love the little thieves… sometimes), and we think we deserve some fucking Hanukkah miracles, too. So light your Chanukah Menorah (or a Glade candle or whatever you have!), and join us in celebrating these miraculous gifts:
On the 1st night of Hanukkah, a miracle happened: My children went to bed the first time they were asked, and I got to watch This Is Us & drink with my partner before 10 pm.
On the 2nd night of Hanukkah, a second miracle: My children’s clothes clean enough to wear again and they used inside voices and not even one ear-splintering scream was heard.
On the 4th night of Hanukkah, another miracle: My children’s lunch boxes were emptied after school with no traces of congealed yogurt or flimsy, half-eaten string cheeses.
On the 5th night of Hanukkah, yet another the miracle: My children took a bath that didn’t involve buckets of water on the floor and a white hot panic dash to the kitchen below to check for water damage in the ceiling.
On the 6th night of Hanukkah, another astounding miracle: A meal eaten without colossal amounts of food all over their faces, hands and clothes, a meal where actual food that I prepared was chewed and swallowed.
On the 7th night of Hanukkah, a miraculous shopping trip: We ventured to the store and back without tears or the all-consuming greed to ask for every single item they see, whether it’s gardening tools or placemats or popcorn or masking tape.
On the last night of Hanukkah, an 8th and final miracle: No one screamed at me all day, and if they needed something, they used the words “please” and “thank you” and waited patiently without asking more than once.
A beautiful eight nights to never be forgotten, though there will be times when we sit back in utter, utter awe.