We all have one thing in common. We’re special moms

I’m sitting in a circle with other women, my pen hovering over the spiral-bound notebook in my hand, waiting to hear the writing prompt.

I don’t love writing workshops. I prefer to let a prompt or idea sit in my head and hibernate until it lets me know that it’s ready to come out. This will inevitably take place three minutes before I have to pick the kids up from school, or five minutes after candlelighting and then I’ll be a pain to live with till Motzaei Shabbos. Still, that’s the way it works for me. In a group of other participants, I’ll be watching everyone else scribble and wonder what’s wrong with me, and why can’t I write more than one sentence (that I’ve since scribbled out), and oooh that lady’s handbag is so cool, I wonder if it’s socially off to ask her where it’s from.

This workshop may be different, though. It’s not a writing workshop. The group of women I’m sitting with aren’t necessarily writers. We’re are at varying ages and stages of life, are from all ends of the religious spectrum, and all have one thing in common. We’re special moms.