The Story of My Life 

It didn’t take long for me to develop a curiosity about the brand of insanity that had sent me out of the house at that hour. The dimming streets were full of weary families leaving the parks and the occasional sprightly teen emerging for twilight errands. We dodged our way to the bookstore with a slight sense of going in the wrong direction. The book was easy enough to find. I was hoping we’d have an equally easy time finding our beds.

Suri was already sleeping, her face damp against her blanket. Something told me that Mendy would need yet another change upon coming home. If that wasn’t enough of a motivator to set me scuttling home, Chani was, as of yet, unbathed….

They say that home is where the heart is. Well, in that case, I discovered that my heart was in the center of a kitchen strewn with the remains of a smashed plate and chicken and rice. In the sink, the dishes sat heavily on yesterday’s counterparts. Exhaustion sat heavier yet, like a weighted blanket, pulled over my head. Shabbos was coming in less than 24 hours and I didn’t even have ingredients at home. Rosh Hashanah would follow just two days later, and my brain and heart seemed ignorant of the fact.

The only feeling I registered was exhaustion. Deep, profound, suffocating tiredness.