So I’m not a tzadeikes, I shot back to my ever-present faultfinder. I haven’t got bottomless reservoirs of patience. But I’m not so bad, either
“TAKE HER OUT!” Dahlia shrieked, furiously rubbing her eyes to expel flecks of Pantene.
Shira — who’d discovered the singular joys of spritzing helpless siblings in the bath with water guns — snickered. No strength for discipline right now, my voice of cogency warned. Just get this child to a place where she can’t hurt anyone!
I enticed Shira out of the tub with a delicious, just-out-of-the-dryer towel. She made a grand exit, taking six gallons of water with her — and leaving me and the floor drenched.
“Honey, I’m looking at the clock. I want you in pajamas, hair brushed, by 7:30.”
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