Can we have one normal homecoming, please? No drama, no violence, just a warm hello? Apparently not

“How are you, Ilana?” Kayla crowed, stepping out of her Sienna. She lifted a pair of Prada sunglasses onto a heavily streaked wig.

“Great, baruch Hashem,” I said, shivering. “How’s Danielle liking school?”

Another gust of wind. I pulled Ari’s hat lower around his face.

“Oh, she loves it.” Kayla rolled her eyeballs upward for emphasis. “But I think 4:15 dismissal is too late. They’re only seven, after all….”

Hmmm… do I lie? Nod vigorously, say “I know exactly what you mean”? How about “Lady, are we on the same planet?”

I smiled politely. “At least you have Sundays together.”

A sea of white, blue, and green tumbled through the entranceway. Thirty little girls bearing oversized backpacks and flying wisps of hair scoured the lot for Mommy.

Danielle — impeccably attired, as usual — bounded into Kayla’s arms.

Keren, my neighbor’s bashful daughter, moseyed toward her mom.

Then I spotted my live wire. “Hi Shira’le!” I said, waving. Within milliseconds, Shira — face aglow, shirt flaps flying out from under her coat, collar covered in ketchup — zoomed my way.

“Mommy, you won’t believe what we did today!” she shouted.

I wanted to scoop up this ball of energy, give a bear hug, but she zipped dangerously close to the baby.

“Sweetie, please don’t touch Ari, he’s sleeping and—”

Too late. Shira pressed her freezing fingers onto Ari’s cheeks, inducing a shrill cry. Then, in her zeal to extract today’s project, she whacked her knapsack into the Snap-N-Go, knocking it backward… into the open car, where Tali and Dahlia had been happily engaged in Go Fish. Forty fastidiously positioned cards sailed into the air.

“You’re STUPID!” Tali screamed.

Ari’s shrieks went up an octave. My cortisol levels spiked, blood pounded hard. I set back the stroller, shush him. Thank G-d I’d strapped him in.

Can we have one normal homecoming, please? No drama, no violence, just a warm hello?

Apparently not.

“I don’t CARE!” Shira screeched. “Ari loves me the most!” She stuck her face into his to demonstrate. Ari burst into tears.

I take a deep breath (if I got a penny each time I took a deep breath…) and force myself to kiss Shira on the head.

“Can you try to be more careful?”

Tali locked fingers with Dahlia, who stuck her tongue out. “We’re never gonna play with you!”

Shira yanked viciously at Tali’s braid. I plunged into the back for damage control.

Five manicured fingers tapped elegantly on the window. “Everything okay in there?” Kayla crooned, her puppy-eyes accentuated by several shades of shadow.

She put a patronizing hand on my shoulder. “I tell you, if the kids came home at one and had some mommy time, I bet they would be so much calmer….”

Right. I swallowed hard. Now can you please go back to your perfect life?

I threw bags of freshly cut-up apples into each child’s lap. Momentary calm. Chomp, chomp.

Ha! What I would have done for a sister, a playmate! I slammed on the gas, thinking back to the painfully lonely car rides of my childhood. At family simchahs, I’d get sick with envy watching my cousins laugh easily, share an understanding exclusive to the people you’ve lived with for years…. When Daniel and I had discovered my second pregnancy, I cried. I could give my kids the gift I’d never had.

“Mom,” Dahlia intoned as we headed off the highway. “Can you please kill Shira?”

She was serious.

The tears came; I furiously swiped them away. Shira’s eyes narrowed, but she controlled the impulse to attack — she didn’t want to miss my response. You better get this right, my critic warned. I bid the social worker in me to activate, fast.

“Shira is a special person in our family, sweetie, and we’d never do something like that. It sounds like you’re really, really upset. I’m sorry you’re mad. When we get home, we’re going to try to figure out how we can prevent this from happening again.”

I glanced in the rearview mirror. Dahlia looked glumly at her twin — mission failed. Shira stared at me, willing herself to believe what she’d heard.

Raindrops pattered on the windshield. I switched on the wipers.

If only eyes came with wipers.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 470)