I would take the best picture and hang it in our entranceway

T

he night before my son’s vort, I stayed up and worried, as is a Jewish mother’s prerogative. I pondered the following: Would the usually unpredictable weather in Baltimore be pleasant — as the usually wrong weatherman predicted? Would a table laden with food be strong enough to withstand the impact of my overzealous grandchildren? Would our guests coming from out of town remember that simchahs in our community start on time? Would the caterer remember that the dessert menu was peanut-free so as not to allow my grandchild to publicly show off his razor-quick use of an EpiPen? And most importantly, would I look good wearing my two-year-old sheitel, or should I have splurged on a new one?

Baruch Hashem, the day turned out better than expected. The staff we hired showed up early, and family and close friends came on time. I hugged everyone with unbridled joy, clinging just a little longer than necessary to keep myself from falling over from exhaustion.

We soon came to my favorite part of the simchah. As the photographer gathered everyone together for pictures, the excitement revived me, and I suddenly found myself able stand to my full five foot two inches (5"3' with those annoying heels I was wearing).