Three weeks of answering the friendly query “What’s new?” with “Not much”

It’s been three weeks since a tall young man first walked through our front door.

Three weeks of trying to keep the house clean for twice-a-week dates — of studying exactly which parts of the kitchen are visible from the dining room and moving the clutter to the parts that aren’t. Three weeks of trying to find baked goods to put out for the dates — but maybe I shouldn’t bother, he never touches the food anyway.

Three weeks of trying to hide my daughter’s shidduch from her younger siblings — and failing miserably (“Hey, why’s the house so clean? Why’d you buy rugelach? When’s the date?”) Three weeks during which everyone in the family, down to the six-year-old, found out the name and identifying information of the young man in question. (People around here aren’t very good at keeping secrets.)

Three weeks of marveling at the Hashgachas Hashem that led to this improbable shidduch — and at how perfect this match appeared to be. Three weeks of davening for clarity — but feeling like it’s already so clear.