She crumpled the papers in her hand and tossed them in the air. “Self-care,” she declared

Noooo. Not Vivian.

But it very much was Vivian. My first customer for the day, in all her white-teethed glory, tiptoeing past the clutter of flowers and props toward my place at the counter. She walked straight over to me, smiling like mad, and I sized her up. White ribbed top tucked into white midi skirt. Sheitel that looked like it grew from her scalp. Moschino sling-backs. Wide-strap crossbody bag.

The woman looked like she was just back from the beach, the mall, and the spa.

While I, of course, was not even wearing makeup.

“Hey, Raizy,” Vivian chirped. She paused and arched an elegant eyebrow. “You feeling okay?”

Was I feeling okay?

“Hum,” I mumbled. “Just a rough morning.”

Just a rough morning, ha. As though most mornings were fresh oat bran muffins with fruit smoothies, have an amazing day, sweetheart, I love you too, mwah, and this morning’s “roughness” had been a one-time glitch.

Mornings were my undoing. I always set my alarm clock 18 minutes early, so I could snooze twice and get 18 additional minutes of sleep. Silly math, I knew, but on a psychological level it worked.

The problem began when my finger hovered over the snooze button for round three. Nine more minutes. Yes, no, yes, no.

That morning, my pillow prevailed — and Leila scored.

I blamed the fatigue on the baby, who’d hollered straight through the night. And on yesterday’s crazy day, and the crazy day ahead, and my crazy life in general, but really, it was all about Leila.

Because if I woke up on time, I would need to make Leila do her homework. The homework she’d refused to do the night before and promised to do in the morning instead. The homework we both knew she would not do in the morning instead.

If I gave the girl nine extra minutes, she could slink out the door before I made it to the kitchen, promise reneged.

Dovid claimed I was too hard on her. “You need to face the fact that she’s learning disabled,” he kept arguing. “Stop expecting so much from her, let her enjoy life.”

Easy for him to say. He hadn’t spent five gazillion hours poring over kriah sheets with this girl. He never engaged with Leila’s teachers and tutors or explored new remediation strategies. He refused to recognize what a negative impact our daughter’s learning disabilities had on her social life, on her self-esteem. He didn’t care.

But I did.