It’s Thursday night, and I’m setting the table for Shabbos. As I spread the snowy white tablecloth onto the table, I feel something crunchy beneath my feet. I peer down and spot a lone Cheerio laying peacefully on the rug. I smile as I pick it up then start to unfurl the plastic table covering. Oops, there’s something else underfoot. This time, it’s a piece of pretzel coating from the schnitzel we had for dinner the night before. And look, I see a piece of construction paper over there.

I grew up in a different time. The lines between adults and children were drawn with precision. I called adults Mr. or Mrs., and it never occurred to me to answer back to my parents. When I ate with adults other than my parents, my siblings and I sat at the children’s table. We never felt left out; that’s just the way things were back then, and we accepted it without question.

Mostly everyone I knew learned proper manners. We said please and thank you, ate with our mouths closed, and were taught not to interrupt adults when they were speaking. My mother insisted we speak correctly, using correct diction. In my small town, my friends all said, “I’m going over my friend’s house” and “It was so fun.” I learned to say, “I’m going over to my friend’s house” and “It was so much fun.

I’m looking online for vitamins. Who wants to pay 12 dollars when I can get them for seven? But in order to get them for that lower price, I’ll need to spend at least 35 dollars on other merchandise to get the free shipping. I rack my brain as I think, now what do I need? How about tights? No. What about my husband’s favorite snack bars? No, he just ordered a box of them recently. Toothpaste? Shampoo? Nope, I’m well stocked.

I was in the pool yesterday swimming laps. I’m getting into a nice routine these days. I know what clothes to pack and have all my toiletries arranged together so I’m ready for the shower after my swim. When I’m in the locker room, I hear a lot of plastic bags crinkling as other women organize themselves too. I’ve gotten pretty good at this schedule and very rarely leave something behind.

My son and I were up late one night shmoozing. It isn’t often we get to spend time talking about deep and meaningful subjects. I would have stayed up even longer if my drooping eyelids would have agreed.

We spoke softly because of the lateness of the hour, and my son, who is usually running from one thing to the next, sat across from me talking quietly or listening intently, causing my love for him to overflow as I gazed into his warm eyes while adoring his trademark smile.

My body has become one giant exercise regimen. “Pull in my stomach.” “Remember to do my morning exercise practice – but wait, it’s already mid-afternoon.” I was pretty good about getting into a steady routine until my kids came erev Shabbos. I thought about the exercises I needed to do while putting up the cholent. Before I turned around, it was four o’clock, and I knew it wasn’t going to happen. But I did remember to stand up straight for a few moments when opening the door to the breakfront. Between washing the kitchen floor, putting the food into the oven to warm, and moving the Shabbos candlesticks to a safer location, I remembered bits and pieces like, “It’s time to drink some water.” “Hold in my core but relax my shoulders.”