Things were going wrong right from the beginning. Moishie woke up early in the morning, burning with a fever; he could hardly move. Then, a few minutes later, he began giving back everything he ate; to me, it seemed as if he were giving back everything he had eaten in the last week.

Somehow, I managed to send the rest of the children off to school, to the music of Moishie’s wails and the baby’s cries of neglect. I really shouldn’t complain, because things did settle down by 9:45, when I had to leave for the doctor. I even managed to throw all the bedding and clothes into the washer — the ones that were hit when Moishie didn’t make it to the bathroom.

As usual, the doctor said it was a virus and gave a prescription and diet to be followed strictly. I just made it back in time to let in the plumber who was scheduled to fix the kitchen sink at 11:20. As he arrived at the door, I met him with a baby in each arm, and managed with my last bit of strength to show him what had to be done.

And wouldn’t things like that happen… as I’m rushing back and forth between the plumber and the crying children, I stubbed my toe badly on one of his big, bulky tools. Now I was really full of self-pity. I was limping back and forth between plumber and kids: wash had to be put in the dryer, meat defrosted, supper cooked, beds made… My toe was really bothering me, and I was convinced that I belonged in bed…

I just couldn’t wait for the moment that Raizel would walk in the door. She would understand; she would save the day. What would our house be like without my dear teenage daughter?! The hours slipped by and finally the children started coming home in their usual shifts. I was counting the minutes and the seconds for my dear Raizel…

Until… “Hi, Ma”. Raizel finally walked through the door. “You’ll never guess what I have to do tonight,” she began even before I had a chance to begin my sob story… “We have the biggest report ever due for tomorrow. We have to look up at least five meforshim. It will take me all night even if I begin right away. Is supper ready, Momma?”

“A report like that you have to complete in one evening?” I questioned.

“Actually we did have two weeks, but these last two weeks were packed every night— we had tests or reports, and now this…” she explained. In a few minutes Raizel had gobbled down the supper I managed to put together, some of it eaten while talking to one or another of her friends on the telephone.

“You know, Raizel,” I began, “things were pretty hectic in the house today… Moishe has fever and I stubbed my toe very badly and can hardly walk.”

Raizel looked at me with some measure of pity, but mostly of disbelief. I guess that’s because Raizel very proudly thinks of her mother as some sort of superwoman who manages no matter what. Right after supper, she took out her piles of seforim and papers and her sticking candy — and of course telephone in hand. The wash was not yet put away. Moishe was crying again, and so was the baby; maybe he was catching the virus from Moishie.

The dishes had to be washed and the younger kids put to sleep. “I’ll do the dishes, Raizel,” I began. “I’ll even fold the wash and put it away, all you have to do is put the younger children into pajamas and tuck them into bed, with krias shma of course…”

Raizel looked at me quite puzzled. “I don’t thank you really understand how much work I have to put into this report in order to pass. Mrs. Hefler is a murder teacher. She is going to take off points left and right. Don’t you want me to get a good mark for my report?”

Now Raizel was even more upset than I was. Poor child. She does try very hard to be a top student.

I was now convinced that my toe was really broken. I couldn’t put my foot on the floor at all. The older boys were not coming home from yeshiva until late, and although the middle ones meant well, I couldn’t really rely on them now, with Moishie sick and the baby so cranky. Things in the house got out of control. No one was doing any homework, the four- and five-year-olds got into mischief, and the eight- and nine-year-olds got into a fight— a sibling fight which at this point I had no strength to untangle. I suppose I could have convinced them to help me a little, but they still needed direction, and I was busy with the baby and Moishie. If only Raizel could do it…

The key turned in the door and my husband walked in. My younger ones were still not in bed, the middle ones still fighting. Moishie wailing, the baby the crying, and mommy groaning… and Raizel was crunching her apple and talking on the phone with five different seforim open in front of her and writing and writing and writing.

“What’s going on here?” my husband asks.

I apologize for not feeling well and began a long story of my hectic day and swollen toe. In truth, I just had no more strength to go on…

“Raizel, what’s the matter with you – can’t you help out when your mother doesn’t feel well?” My husband let out his whole disappointment at poor studious Raizel.

“But, Tatty, I have a gigantic report to do for tomorrow. It’s from my hardest teacher and the whole class is working all night at it… My teacher also said that she will take no excuses for not having the report in on time and no notes from parents will help. Do you really want me to fail?” Raizel’s big blue eyes were now full of tears. She had to convince herself and her father that she really wasn’t that bad…

“What kind of report is this anyway? A whole night for one report?” My husband couldn’t understand.

“You don’t understand and Tatty, we need five meforshim – five meforshim!” Raizel said with so much emphasis that you would think the five turned into five hundred. But I guess they were harder to find than to write. “To prove our point we need to write at least five sides and quote five meforshim,” Raizel said, trying to sound as intelligent as she could.

“And what point do you have to prove?” he asked.

“The significance of our topic,” was the reply.

“Now tell me Raizele, what is your topic and what do you have to spend the whole night and five papers and five meforshim to prove?” Raizel did not hesitate, and without the slightest realization of the paradox, the illogic of it, “We have to make a five-page report on kibud av va’eim, respecting and honoring our parents!”

This article first appeared in Di Yiddishe Heim, Autumn 5744 (1983).