Hi Leezie, so sorry to do this to you, but we’ve changed the colors last minute. Crazy, but the hall went and repainted and rose & gold will totally clash now with the walls. Here’s a pic of our new colors. Eggplant & cream. Tx a ton! See u at 5!!

I stare at the screen. This can’t be. She can’t be asking me to redo the entire color scheme, not when nearly everything’s already baked and it’s — I glance at the time — 2:30 p.m..

She expects me to get this to the hall by 5? If she’s going to switch colors on me, she needs to give me enough time to—

That’s when I think to look at the time stamp on her text. And see that she sent it late last night.

Oh.

No.

I am in major trouble.

I’m peeling off layers of icing, throwing in ingredients for a new batch of cookies, and mixing a new color shade all at once. And I still have the petit fours in the freezer that need their cream frosting, and the chocolate mint logs to make.

Even as I’m composing my apology/excuse call in my mind (I’m sorry, Shira, I didn’t see your text until this afternoon when most of the food was already prepared. I really need 24-hour notice for changes), I’m also berating myself.

Shira Neiman’s a well-connected person, and, honestly, I would have been able to accommodate her color change on time, no sweat, had I just seen the stupid text.

No — had I just woken up at a normal time and had a normal morning and checked my messages like a normal businesswoman is expected to.

Instead of being, well, me.

“Yum! Cookies!” Duvy’s eyes light up as he walks into the kitchen and sees the day’s spoils on the counter. I should wrap them up and put them in the freezer — who knows, maybe someone will call me with an order for 200 rose-and-gold heart-shaped cookies that say “Mazel Tov Yitzi and Esti” — but I just don’t have the energy.

He looks at me. “May I?”

I wave dispiritedly. “Enjoy. At least someone should.”

The cookie is already halfway toward my husband’s mouth, but he stops and arches an eyebrow.

“Bad day?”

I snort. “When you show up an hour and a half late to a simchah delivery, and not only has the other side’s family already arrived, but the chassan’s grandmother starts talking loudly about the caterers where she lives who are so much more professional, and too bad Shira didn’t think to use their cousin Fraidel like she’d recommended — I guess you could call that a bad day.”

Duvy takes a bite of the cookie and sits down. “Ouch. What happened that made you come late?”

“Well, let’s see, I woke up late, and—” I launch bitterly into my whole pathetic saga.

“Ouch,” he says again. And pauses. I can see him mentally flipping through the notes from the shalom bayis class our shul rav recently gave the men. “That does sound like a rough day.”

“Ten points for validation,” I mutter.

Next step: Encouragement. “Leezie, I think you should cut yourself some slack. Hashem sent you a bunch of nisyonos today, and you handled them as best as you could.”

That stops the cynical commentary in my head. “Nisyonos?” I stare at him. “Duvy, were you listening? Should I repeat my day to you?

“I oversleep, because I forgot to set my alarm. Shmuli misses his dentist appointment, because I forgot to mention it to him yesterday. The girls all come late to camp because I wake them up late. I procrastinate in getting started on my baking because I’m too tempted by cheesecake and a magazine. I forgot to check my phone messages, so I missed a majorly important one.”

He squints at me uncertainly, and I glare back at him. “Sorry, but I’m not seeing any nisayon in this picture. I’m seeing a lady who’s 36 years old and still hasn’t managed to teach herself self-discipline or organization.”

I turn around before he can scroll down his mental checklist and move on to Empathy or worse, Cautiously Offer Advice. Honestly, right now, I just want to go to sleep and pretend this terrible day never happened.

But first, I make sure to set my alarm.

I wake up and squint my eyes at my phone: 7:30. Phew. I give a big yawn. I feel like I slept strangely last night, and I’m still so tired. The camp buses aren’t coming for another hour; I can give myself 15 more minutes. I close my eyes.

“Bye, Ma!” I wake up a with a start as I hear someone calling me from a distance. Glance at my phone. And groan. 8:30. Again. Why do I keep doing this to myself?

“Have a great day, Shmuli!” I call back to my good, responsible son, as I brace myself to wake up the girls and once again inform them that they’ll be coming late to camp.

At least there are no dentist appointments today. No Neiman vort.

Ugh. Don’t think about it. I stick my head in the older girls’ room. “Tzippy, Rivky, wake up. I’m so sorry, but it’s late, again. Hurry up, I’ll drive you to camp.”

As two pairs of sleepy eyes shoot daggers at me, I think resentfully, There’s nothing stopping them from setting their own alarms.

But I can’t blame them for taking after their mother, can I?

I’m starting to move on to the next room, when I hear it. Tzippy’s frantic, “But, Ma! I have my trip today! And they said they’re not waiting for anyone who comes late!”

I turn back and look at her strangely. “No, you don’t, sweetie. You went on your trip yesterday, remember?”

Now she’s giving me an odd look. “What are you talking about, Ma? It’s today! And I’m going to miss it! Can you call my counselor and tell her we’ll be there really soon, and they should wait?”

She’s practically in tears, so I tell her yes, but actually I’m thinking it’s a doctor I need to call. I finger my phone, debating whether I’d sound like a hypochondriac mother, when the phone springs to life in my hands.

“Hello?”

“Is this Mrs. Levine? Your son Shmuli had a dentist appointment scheduled for 8:45 this morning.” The voice is crisp and accusatory.

I put a hand to my forehead. “He— he did? No, I rescheduled the appointment for next week.”

There’s a pause. “Mrs. Levine, we have no record of you rescheduling. Your appointment was for Tuesday the 7th. We even called yesterday to confirm.”

My heart is pounding. “Tuesday the 7th?” I whisper. “But isn’t it Wednesday today?”

“No,” she says coldly.

“I’m… so confused,” I stammer.

The secretary’s voice softens. “Don’t worry, you’re not the first overwhelmed mother to get mixed up. Would you like to reschedule?”

After I hang up with her, I call Tzippy’s counselor in a daze. Sure enough, she admonishes me to come quickly and she’ll try to hold the buses back.

Am I going insane?

In the car, the girls remark on how quiet I am.

“Are you feeling okay, Ma?” Rivky asks.

I take a breath. “I’m not sure.”

“You should take the day to relax,” says Tzippy. “You work so hard. Do you have any jobs today?”

I start to say no, but then I stop, because maybe, just maybe, I have the Neiman vort tonight. The thought makes my hands shake so much the car starts to swerve.

“I think I’ll take a nap when I get home,” I mumble. A crazy thought has occurred to me: maybe I’m asleep right now. Maybe this is all a dream, and when I wake up, it will be Wednesday and the world will be turning the right way on its axis again.

When I come home, I head straight to my bedroom. I lie down, close my eyes, and open them again. Nothing’s changed. The high sun beaming into my window tells me it’s still late morning, and the date is still… I grope for my phone, just to be sure, but it’s not on my night table.

Right. It’s in Rivky and Tzippy’s room. I walk over to retrieve it, and timorously look at the screen. Tuesday, July 7th. And — I blink — there’s a text from Shira Neiman waiting for me.

When life gets too weird to wrap your head around, you Google.

I sit down on Tzippy’s bed and search for People who relive the same day over again.

It turns out there are two explanations out there for experiencing a time loop. The first involves the Theory of Relativity and so forth, and the only thing I manage to understand is that while scientists say it may be technically possible, the attempt to time-travel would pulverize a person into itty-bitty particles.

Since I don’t think I’m dead, I turn to the psychologists, who say that, yes, there are some people who are stuck reliving the same day over and over — in their heads, that is.

Is this in my head? But I’m the only one who realizes that time has passed; it’s all the people around me who are stuck in yesterday.

Or maybe that’s in my head, too?

One search result, down at the bottom of the page, catches my eye.

Experiencing a time loop? You’re not crazy!

I quickly click on the site.

Are you stuck repeating the same day again and again? You’re not alone!

Dr. Justin Tyme has helped hundreds of people work through their time repetition issues, and learn to appreciate their unique inner gift.

“Before I met Dr. Justin, I’d been reliving the same day for the past 20 years and, worst of all, Buddy Black kept stealing my lunch. After just two meetings with Dr. Justin, I finally found the inner strength to fill my lunch bag with worms. Take that, Buddy! Ha, ha!”

—Las Laff

“I used to worry that living in a time loop meant I would never move forward in life. But Dr. Justin showed me how to appreciate the unique benefits of being a looper. For example, I can eat as much ice cream as I want, and wake up the next morning as if I haven’t eaten any of it!”

—M. T. Carol Lees

After a lot of pacing back and forth, and a break to eat the last slice of caramel cheesecake once again, I dial the number on the website.

I give over my credit card number, and then I explain my experience to the good doctor.

“Yes, fascinating phenomenon, a time loop,” he says in a lilting voice. “Real? Undoubtedly. I’ve seen many cases. The question is, why does it happen to certain people? In my experience, it’s a matter of sheer will. The brain willing the body back in time… Oh yes, certainly possible. The brain, it’s a powerful organ. Modern science has only uncovered a tiny fraction of what the brain is capable of. I congratulate you, my dear. If you are a time looper, that means you have an extraordinary brain.”

I allow myself a small twinge of pride. Wait’ll I tell Duvy!

“But Dr. Tyme, can you help me? I don’t want to be stuck in this day forever!”

“Hmm. Stuck is such a negative term. As my client, you’ll learn to reframe your existence in a cloud of positivity, to appreciate the unusual gifts nature has bestowed upon you, and harness those gifts for your own good and the good of humanity.”

“Um, I don’t und—?”

“Can you imagine the pristine beauty of a single day lived to perfection?” His voice takes on an edge of excitement. “My dear, you’ve been given the exceedingly rare opportunity to experience it!”

“Yes, but still…” I try again. “How do I get back into regular time?”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Sometimes, the brain may pull you back out of the loop, if it, shall we say, found what it’s seeking.”

“What does that mean?” I ask.

Over the phone, I hear him sigh with pleasure. “How little we understand of the marvelous human mind.”

This call is making me more anxious, not less. I thank him and throw down my phone. I wish I’d saved some of the caramel cheesecake. Okay, focus, Leezie. The one thing I got from him is that this is real. It’s not in my head. I guess that’s a comfort… maybe.

And if this is real, then that means… my eyes widen as I look at the clock. The Neiman vort! The food needs to be there in three hours! And I haven’t even started!

There’s nothing that makes you feel quite so dumb like making the same bad mistake twice.

When my alarm goes off in the morning, I’m ready. 7:30, and I’m out of bed. Dr. Tyme’s mellifluous voice is ringing in my ears: Perfection, here I come.

I catch Shmuli as he’s coming out of his room. “Sweetie, I forgot to tell you last night, but you have a dentist appointment this morning. I’ll take you to camp afterwards.”

Shmuli scrunches his nose — okay, I didn’t exactly expect him to jump for joy— but inside, I’m doing cartwheels.

Next, I knock on the girls’ bedrooms. “Rise and shine!” I sing. “Time to get ready for camp!”

Tzippy pops up. “Yay, I have my trip today! Ma, is my blue T-shirt clean?”

I frown as I hit this snag. But then I smile brightly. “No, but I’ll throw it in the laundry right now.”

“Will it be done in time?” Tzippy asks suspiciously.

“Of course! You have an hour until the bus comes!”

I run down to the laundry room, virtuous mother that I am, and when I come back up, I decide, on this bright and perfect day, to surprise my kids with blueberry pancakes for breakfast. By the time the children start trooping into the kitchen, I already have the first batch fried.

“Mmm, smells delish!”

“Thanks, Ma! You’re the best!”

Ah, music to a mother’s ears.

The pancakes take longer than I calculated, and by the time I’m finished, there’s only five minutes until the bus. I’m quickly putting together lunches when Tzippy comes rushing in, carrying a knapsack.

“I’m all packed for my trip. Is my T-shirt ready?”

Oops.

“Oy, sweetie, I forgot to put it in the dryer. Um, do you want to wear it wet, or take a different one?”

Tzippy’s face turns red. “You told me it would be ready in time! I can’t take a different one, I need that T-shirt! What should I do?” she wails.

I feel the pancakes churning in my stomach. “I’ll put it in the dryer now, and then I’ll drive you to camp. You’ll get there just a few minutes after the bus.”

She sucks in her cheeks. “No, I won’t! I’ll be late! And they said they’re not waiting for anyone who comes late!”

Where have I heard that line before? Suddenly deflated, I mumble, “I’ll call your counselor. Don’t worry, they’ll wait for you.”

I run down to the laundry room, throw the T-shirt into the dryer and slam the door shut. So much for perfection; even when I try to be a good mother, I can’t get it right.

I drop Tzippy off on the way to Shmuli’s dentist appointment, which means that we arrive late for the appointment, but, hey, at least we made it. I wish I could tell that to the disapproving secretary, wish I could tell her how close she was to having a cancellation. Don’t I get any points for improvement?

After bringing Shmuli to camp, I come home and head for the kitchen. A peek into the fridge shows me that the last slice of caramel cheesecake is waiting for me again. I am tempted — so tempted.

Just 15 minutes?

Leezie, I tell myself sternly. Remember the definition of insanity? With an effort, I close the fridge. Hurray for me.

Before starting to work on the Neiman vort, I check my phone, just to be sure. Yes, there is it — her text telling me to change the colors to eggplant and cream. No problem, I text back confidently. I have six-and-a-half hours until drop-off time, and I am On. Top. Of. This.

Three hours later, the cookies are glittery gorgeous, the cake decorated to flowery perfection, and the petit fours are creamed and ready. I just have the chocolate mint logs left to do, and plenty of time to do it.

I need to stretch a bit, after standing in the kitchen all day. I decide to go for a quick walk.

My neighbor’s coming out of her car. As I wave hello, I realize with a start that I haven’t spoken to any friends in three days. In three Leezie-days, that is. I also realize that, if all I do is keep replaying the same script again and again, I might never speak to any friends again in my life — at least until my extraordinarily powerful brain decides to pull me out of this crazy time loop, whenever that happens.

It’s time to change the script, I decide, and stop by her car to chat. I’m enjoying myself so much that when she invites me inside, I agree.

It’s the chocolate mint cookies that she offers me that make me gasp and remember myself.

“I didn’t realize how late it was! I must get home now to finish up a catering order. They’ll have my head if I’m late.”

Don’t I know it.

I race home, and begin throwing together the ingredients for the chocolate mint log. I will not get there late today, I will not, even though I very nearly ruined it for myself with this unexpected delay—

I stop, hand arrested midair, as I’m struck with a sudden thought. Unexpected. After three days of repeating the same script, of doing it better each time because, hey, I’d have to be crazy not to after seeing exactly what the consequences were — today there was something new.

True, it was once again me confronting my lack of discipline, my lack of time organization, me, my faults, and I.

But did that make it any less of a challenge? At the end of the day, even a very long day, wasn’t I given these negative traits of mine, and isn’t life meant to be a constant loop of trying to improve, one baby step at a time?

I feel like I’ve stumbled onto something big and powerful — more powerful even than my own extraordinary brain — and hugely comforting. But there’s no time to think this through, because I need to rush if I want to make it to the Neimans in time.

“No scraps for me?” Duvy sighs as he wanders into the kitchen later that evening. “How was the vort?”

“Great!” I smile brightly. “They loved the pastries, and baruch Hashem, I got everything there on time!”

Duvy looks bemused. “Well, why wouldn’t you?”

I shrug and smile to myself. “Ah, you never know what nisyonos Hashem may throw your way.”

He shakes his head. “Well, you clearly didn’t have enough today. No slightly burnt cookies or something for your poor husband to eat? What are you, perfect?”

I laugh. “No perfection here. No perfect day, no perfect me. Just… you know, trying.”

Duvy shakes his head and rubs his stomach dramatically as he opens the fridge. “Well, there’s always tomorrow to hope for.”

“Yup,” I say, and I suddenly feel an inner bubble of conviction. “Tomorrow’s another day.”

When Duvy pulls his head back out, he’s beaming and holding something aloft.

“Look what I found! One more slice left of caramel cheesecake!”

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 701)