“I’m sorry you couldn’t reach me,” I say evenly. “That’s very strange. Maybe the hall didn’t have reception. And the wedding was so nice,” I say. “Baila looked beautiful, and the girls’ gowns were stunning.”

Chaya sighs dreamily. “Wow, wish I’d been invited.”

WHY DIDN’T YOU JUST TAKE HIM OUT??? I scream at her mentally. Although I’m pretty sure the answer is because Chaya has probably never babysat before in her life. The Hermans were a cautionary tale these days; Leora’s never worked a day in her marriage, the kids are all used to the finer things in life, and now Mr. Herman lost his company and that’s all disappeared. My good friend Bassi had filled me in on what’s going on. She knows everything, Bassi. Occupational hazard of working in real estate, I’ve heard. And truly, I admire Chaya, to just jump into her circumstance with a sunny smile and a readiness to earn some spending money, but also, I’d be in a better mood if she had actually been watching my kid instead of yapping away on the phone.

“Well,” I say, pulling out a wad of bills I definitely am having a hard time parting with as Benjy rubs his nose on my brand new chasunah outfit, “my husband’s in the car with Temima, they’ll drive you home.”

I walk her to the door, kicking toys out of my way — she’d played with the kids, which is good, but did not clean up, which is bad — and manage not to slam it after her.

Then I turn back to my baby. “Mommy’s here,” I say soothingly.

He rubs his eyes and lies back down on my shoulder. “Yeah, you’re not going back to sleep till I bathe you, funny boy. Sorry.”

So he gets his second bath of the night, and I need to change his sheet. I end up going to sleep super late, annoyed, and grumpy.

I’m still annoyed the next morning, especially when I see the pile of Benjy’s laundry on the floor of the laundry room. Temima apparently notices as she grabs a yogurt from the fridge on her way to her job. “It’s not such a big deal,” she tells me. “I used to schmooze on the phone all the time when I babysat. Oh, and I ate snacks. Babysitting was mostly contingent on who had the best snacks. It was usually the Katzes,” she said with a laugh. “They always had jalapeno chips and soft-bite chocolate chip cookies.”

I smile; those are still her favorite. Then I think back to my own babysitting days. I’d loved the Sterns; they paid well, their house was clean, the kids were always sleeping, and they had those Joray Fruit Rolls. Fine, I’ll give Chaya a break. She’s just a kid, trying to make some extra money.

But… I really am annoyed. Poor Benjy! Chaya says she couldn’t reach me. Well, then why didn’t she call her mother’s phone? Think out of the box a little! Unless… Aviva was at our table last night, and she’d been annoyed by her babysitter, who didn’t stop calling. Maybe I should have called her to check in? Ugh, I’m not used to babysitters.

I go back and forth on this all day, as I clean up and do laundry and run out to the seamstress to drop off Avi’s pants. Later, when the kids come home from camp, Mendy convinces me to take everyone to the park.

“But it’s hot,” I say wisely.

He looks at me, freckles scrunched up. “Mommy, outside there’s wind! Plus, you can buy us ice cream.”

I like a man with a plan. Especially if he has freckles. I pack up some water bottles and take my credit card, just in case. Then we head to the park.

When we get there, I squint toward the mom benches. Oh, good, Shaindy and Bassi are here. At least I’ll have someone to schmooze with while we watch the kids.

I wave at the ladies, and wheel Benjy over, sitting down with a groan. “I don’t know if you would know this, but bending over a bathtub twice really hurts when you’re forty-one.”

Shaindy shakes her head. “Join Yogalates. Now. Today. I can literally do a cartwheel. Bathtub bending is a breeze.”

I roll my eyes at Bassi. “Heeeeere we go. Five seconds into the conversation… she usually waits for ten.”

Bassi laughs; Shaindy shakes her head at us.

“Mommy!”

We all look around, because, well, that could mean any of us. I scan the slides. It’s not Mendy or Chelli, so I’m home free.

I do see Chaya though, schmoozing with a group of friends — the only girls in the neighborhood who didn’t go to camp. She waves brightly at me — she clearly did not get the memo; I am so annoyed at her right now — and I give her a halfhearted wave back. Then I flit my gaze back to the slides. Mendy and Chelli are on the drawbridge, jumping up and down to make it shake. I remember doing that as a kid!

But wait, there’s a tiny kid stuck on top of the monkey bars! That is so dangerous!

I start running toward the swing set, my pony wig bobbing behind me, but I’m too late. The kid falls off.

I’m about to scoop him up, but someone gets there first. Chaya.

“Omigosh, Shloimy, are you okay? I didn’t see you were stuck! I’m so sorry.” She looks genuinely anguished.

The kid — Shloimy — seems fine; he’s crying but accepts the lollipop Chaya hands him, so nothing’s broken, I guess. But now I’m so angry, I’m shaking. So irresponsible! Chaya was schmoozing way too far from the playset. She should not be babysitting.

I make my way shakily back to the bench, where I see Shaindy holding Benjy. “He started crying when you ran,” she says, shrugging. “And, wow, Gila, you move fast for someone who doesn’t exercise in the slightest,” she says. “You okay? You’re pale.”

“Fine,” I say weakly. “Just hot. And that kid falling off the monkey bars scared me.” I don’t even try to take the baby back; my hands are trembling too much.

Bassi shudders. “I know. I do not have the nerves for things like that. Hashem had rachmanus and gave me girls.”

Shaindy snorts and points toward her Mali, who is knee-deep in dirt, shoveling away with an old spoon. “Oh, hon, gender has nothing to do with it. It’s my girls who always end up in the emergency room at the most inconvenient times.”

She’s right. I have seven and they’re all gentle, regardless of gender. Baruch Hashem, baruch Hashem, bli ayin hara, pooh pooh pooh.

I open my mouth to say something about Chaya and then shut it again. She’s 14 years old, she’s a child. And it’s not like she wasn’t watching the kid, she was just too far away to stop him from falling. I know I need to cut her some slack. I’m obviously never hiring her again, but still, slack is necessary. And maybe some babysitting tips.

WE head home without stopping for ice cream — I’m too wound up for that. Instead, I offer Mendy freeze pops after supper and plop onto the couch for a break before tackling the kitchen.

Later, while Temima bakes cinnamon buns — she finds baking soothing, bless her soul — and I’m sifting through my shidduch notebook, begging a name to just jump out at me with ruach hakodesh — I’m the bashert! pick me, pick me — the phone rings.

I look at the caller ID and then launch into a speech without letting my friend talk. “Hi, Bassi. Are you calling with a suggestion for Temima? Because I am sitting with my notebook, going through names, so that would be clear Hashgachah. Here’s my question: Why can’t we hear that voice from forty days before birth? Just the mothers. Wouldn’t that make life so much easier?”

I slam my book shut and get up from the table. I’m tired from my day — sitting at the park in the heat can do that — and I’m ready for a good, long schmooze. Plus, the scent of baking cinnamon buns does nothing to motivate me to be productive.

Bassi laughs. “Zechus al yidei zakai, guess that’s not me. No shidduch suggestions here. Also, you kind of just proved why you are not the one running the world. Can you imagine if you knew your child’s bashert? The amount of stalking that would go on….”

I think about this. “Very good points, Bassi.”

“I’m just calling to find out if you have a way to reach Chaya Herman,” she says. “I tried the Hermans, but there was no answer, and I just feel so bad to bother Leora now, the poor woman’s going through so much. It’s just that I have a last-minute open house tomorrow — the Shoenbergs are finally selling that huge colonial — and literally every other teenager in the world is in sleepaway camp.”

And here we are. I sit up straight, all tiredness disappearing likePopsicles from my freezer. What on earth do I do now? Chaya’s parents are stressed out and worn thin; they couldn’t afford to send Chaya to camp like all her friends, and she’s been such a sport about “making pocket money.” But the past day really has me nervous. I don’t think the girl has any idea how to babysit.

She let my baby cry, and she wasn’t watching that little boy at the park. It’s only through a neis that he didn’t break anything.

“Gila?”

I swallow.

“Uh, Bassi,” I say. “You saw what happened at the park with that little kid today.”

Bassi laughs. “Gila! The kid fell off the monkey bars, it totally happens.”

Um, ouch. “Oh… kay.” I think about last night, but I bite my tongue. I know Bassi’s big into sleep training, she’s okay with letting her babies cry. And Chaya had played with Mendy and Chelli, they told me all about it. Was she too far away at the park? She did get to the kid before I did…. “Here’s their house number,” I say, and I hang up, feeling no less conflicted, but less burdened.

Right up until the next day, when I’m driving back from the grocery for the third time.

Is that… Bassi’s little girl, sitting outside her house, crying?

I pull over and hop out. “Rena? Rena, sweetie, where’s your mother?”

She looks up, tears dripping off her little nose. “She said a babysitter would open the door for me, but I knocked and knocked and nobody” — sob — “is answering!”

And that’s when I feel burdened again.

Because I should have said something to Bassi.

Right?

Contribute to this column as a Second Guesser! Email your response, including your name as you want it to appear, to familyfirst@mishpacha.com with Second Guessing in the subject.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 904)