A Mikveh, according to Rabbi Wikipedia, is a pool of natural water used to, "... regain ritual purity after various events, according to regulations laid down in the Torah and in classical rabbinical literature."
I'm not going to pretend to know anything more than that (although I welcome the insights of those who do). I attest, though, that water can indeed heal.
When the boys and I went to the pool yesterday, they weren't thinking of my impatient, "Owen, get in the car seat right now!" or my mumbled, "Joel could you be more annoying?"
No. Through the ritual cleansing of water and chlorine, they became more fun, and I became less testy.
Magic stuff, that water.
Owen did his awkward little frog-paddle, bravely dipping his head underwater, and saying, "Mommy! Did you see what I did? Aren't I very brave?"
"Yes," I said, "You are super-duper brave." He paddled off to do it again, as I watched Joel jump onto a little fountain, shrieking with joy, his face a perfect, yellow daisy.
In the water, it's so easy to love these boys. Perhaps it's because I have to be so cautious. There's no text messages or magazines or phone calls. There's no gossip, no blogging, no bitch sessions. It's just us.
I think I need a Mikveh in my house. Since I bathe and shower only periodically, that won't do.
Perhaps if every time I wash my hands, I attempt to shed away distractions, I will enjoy my children more. I will regain my pure love and my best intentions.
Or, perhaps I will develop Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder.
Like most things regarding faith, one person's reality is another person's hoo-hah.
But this I know: When I toweled off those boys, and we drove home, pruny and soft-skinned, we were at peace. I felt the spirit of love in that car as surely as I feel the keyboard beneath my fingers.
And so, I will continue to seek the water.