Whatever happened to that spunk? That spark? When did I become such a fuddy-duddy?

Tzvi coos at me, then bats my nose with his tiny fist. I’m in Bubby heaven.

Until Boruch and Shaya come barreling into my legs.

“Hey, you two, this is not a good place to be wild.”

They can’t hear me over their whoops and laughter.

“Boys! I nearly dropped the baby!”

They don’t even glance my way as they chase each other out of the room. I let out a big sigh as I sink into the sofa. I love watching Ahuva’s kids, but it’s exhausting. Maybe I should exercise more. Or sleep less. Or eat healthier. Or… I’m out of ors. I guess I’m just feeling my age.

Yocheved enters, holding a notebook. “Bubby, Mommy said you’d help me with this family tree.” She sits down next to me.

“Sure, sweetheart.”

“Here we have to write in yours and Zeidy’s names, with your parents’ names.”

I spell the names out for her. “There, all done.” I settle back into the cushions.

“Great!” Yocheved turns a page. “Now the aunts and uncles. On both sides.”

“Er, both sides?” I yawn.

“Yup. And then…” She turns another page, and another. “…all the cousins.”

I check my watch. “What time is Mommy coming back?”

Yocheved scoots over even closer, till she’s practically on my lap, and points. “Let’s start here.”

The front door opens. I’m saved!

“Hi, Mommy.”

I try not to let my disappointment show. It’s Kaylee, my kallah, not the mother of these adorable and extremely energetic youngsters.

She stops short when she sees Tzvi and Yocheved. “You’re babysitting?”

I muster up a smile. “Baruch Hashem.”

“But you promised you’d take me to the mall for a makeover today. To try colors.”

Oh. Right. Maybe I can push it off a few days?

I look at Kaylee. Her eyebrows are furrowed, her shoulders tense. I make a mental calculation. It’s Thursday. Pushing this off means either battling Sunday shoppers or dealing with Bridezilla till Monday.

“Right after supper. These cuties are going home soon.”

I discover a container of frozen meatballs for supper, but it’s still late by the time we leave.

Kaylee practically dances into the store. She homes in on the makeup counter and engages Amber, who’s more than happy to be of assistance. I watch in awe as Amber trowels layer after layer onto Kaylee’s face.

During a protracted discussion about bronzer versus highlighter, my mind wanders and I find myself staring at my reflection in a countertop mirror. My crows’ feet are sprouting wings, and my laugh lines are becoming singularly unfunny. There’s a tiny new wrinkle between my eyebrows.

“Mommy, what do you think?”

What I really think is that Kaylee has the most beautiful skin I’ve ever seen, and that it’s a crime to hide it under all that gunk.

“You’re lovely,” I say. For now, it’s enough.

Before I know it, Kaylee’s decided I absolutely must get a makeover, too. Between her subtle manipulations and Amber’s full-out frontal attack, I don’t hold out long. Amber takes possession of my face, starting with a pre-base -base layer and finishing off with a sealer, which feels like a lacquer that will keep all these layers glued to my face for weeks.

Amber helps us pick out “our” colors. I, the official killjoy, write down product numbers and agree to return after due deliberation. I also insist Amber remove my bulletproof mask.

Amber, acutely aware that no actual money has changed hands, roots around until she finds a small tube of what she calls one-of-a-kind anti-aging face cream. By this time my face actually hurts, so I let her apply the cream. I feel instant relief. In fact, my skin is positively tingly.

“It’s a very special cream,” Amber says confidently. “It practically turns back the hands of time.”

I try not to roll my eyes.

“See for yourself, you look younger already!”

Kaylee agrees, rotating the mirror in my direction.

My skin actually does look good. I turn my head right, left. I angle my chin down. I can’t find the new wrinkle between my eyebrows.

I laugh at myself for allowing a saleslady’s smooth talk to color my view of myself. Still, my skin feels wonderful. “I’ll take a jar of this.”

“Ah, well, this cream is out of stock, but we should have it within a day or two. When you come back for your order, you can pick it up then.”

Really? Bait and switch?

“But,” she adds, smiling widely, “you’re welcome to take this sample home with you.”

I’m pleasantly surprised. I make a quick escape before she can talk Kaylee into anything else and head straight for the exit. A young woman thrusts a sale flyer into my hands.

“Ooooh,” Kaylee squeals, “that’s the exact linen I wanted, and it’s on sale!”

“It’s pretty,” I agree, “but bottom sheets should be prints, not solids.”

“Oh, Mommy, you say no to everything,” she pouts.

Which is ironic, considering how long I just stood having my face lacquered and stripped.

“You don’t understand,” she continues. “Not everything has to be practical.”

But I do understand. And one day Kaylee will thank me for sharing my life experience with her.