Kids dresser literally just crumpled to the floor. No one hurt, BH!!!!!!!!!, but also, hi, I need a dresser like NOW. I’m already not handling the chaos.

Another thing: I don’t do chaos. Like, at all. I have my shalach manoses made by Tu B’Shevat, my Rosh Hashanah menu by Tishah B’Av.

Yehudis’s response comes in two minutes later, and it’s exactly what I knew it would be: OMG Baruch Hashem for nissim!!!!!!! Check out these two sets on Marketplace — practically free and same vibe as the girls’ room.

I squint at the links. Oooh, she’s right. The white-and-sandy wood one is gorgeous. Triple dresser, huge mirror, and she’s selling it with a night table! I’m totally swooning, but how on earth am I getting this?

It’s in Mapleton. I write back. How am I getting it to Oaksville?

Tell your husband to rent a U-Haul.

Ha. Yeah, right. Mendy is a lot of things, but handy is not one of them. Mendy likes things to be neat and orderly, and if that means he opens the phonebook and just picks a plumber rather than wait around for a recommendation from my brother-in-law, who works in construction, who am I to say anything — even if the guy charges triple the price.

Also, Mendy hates long drives.

I look at the broken dresser, at the clothes spilling out, the broken chunks of wood, the open miracle that none of my children were in the room at the time, and I ask Yehudis for a favor.

Would your husband drive with him and help him schlep? I know I’m asking a lot, and Yehudis has been there for me in so many ways since I met her, like I said. But I still have some pride left. I type quickly. They can make it a boys’ night, grab some steaks, on us!

Yeah, I’m sure Yehudis’s husband needs a steak night out like I need my cleaning lady to cancel: really, really not. But he’s the kind of guy who’ll go out of his way for people, and Mendy really doesn’t like to be beholden.

Yehudis doesn’t answer for a while and then, when I’m on my knees with a garbage bag, gathering any wooden splinters out of the clothing, the phone pings.

Aryeh said sure! He’s available on Tues eve.

For a second, I imagine what it must be like to have a husband say, “Sure.” I don’t think Mendy has ever said the word “sure” in his entire life. But that’s not the point. Mendy is a great husband, and an excellent father. He’s capable and super reliable. Like, I know my kids won’t have the same childhood I had.

Mendy comes home later, tired from a long day at work. I quickly fill him in: huge neis, need new dresser, Yehudis found something, you have a steak and driving date with Aryeh Feld on Tuesday evening.

It’s a lot to take in, but he sticks the landing like a pro, shrugging and nodding his consent. I think he’s just happy I’m not asking him to make any decisions. Or phone calls. Mendy hates cold-calling people.

Okay, we’re in business. I confirm with Daphne the dresser seller that we definitely want it, and Aryeh and Mendy set a time for their U-Haul date. Then Mendy finishes eating while I put Rikki and Yocheved to sleep in the guestroom.

Later, while Mendy is hauling the big pieces of wood to the curb — he has to daven at a later Maariv for this, and I know he’s not happy, but what can I do? — Rafi calls.

My little brother Rafi is… complicated. He always has been. Just one of those people life isn’t easy for. It’s hard enough for a girl to grow up without a father in the picture, but in addition to everything else, Rafi had no one to take him to shul, attend Avos U’Banim, or teach him how to shoot hoops. He had a rough teenagehood, and I was so happy when he married Talia, but the two of them always seem to be in some sort of fight or other, nebach.

“Hi, Raf!”

“Aliza, how are you?”

I look around the room, at the chaos and broken wood and piles of clothing that so accurately describe my life right now. Does my little brother want to hear about the mess my life is at this point? Probably not. “Uh, doing good, baruch Hashem. How’s Talia?”

He sighs.

Oh, no, don’t sigh. Never sigh. Sighing when someone asks you about your wife is not a good sign.

“Um… Actually, I’d love to speak to you guys about, you know, things. I can be in Oaksville on Tuesday. Maybe Mendy and I can schmooze?”

Rafi has always been a little obsessed with Mendy. While most people may find Mendy’s contemplative, low-key personality challenging, Rafi finds his deliberate thinking to be brilliant. Which is nice. For sure for Mendy.

“Aw, Tuesday? Mendy is actually — hang on a sec. One second. Rafi, would you drive with Mendy to pick up a dresser from Mapleton? The girls’ dresser fell over and cracked, don’t ask. You two can grab steaks and schmooze in the car?”

“Yes. Yes, that’d be perfect.” Rafi sounds pumped. “Talia will be in school, so it’s perfect.”

“Omigosh, this is crazy. I’ll confirm with you in a minute, ’kay?”

I quickly text Yehudis. “Your husband’s off the hook! Rafi said he’ll go with Mendy. He’ll be in town anyway.”

Her response is instantaneous. “OMG! yaaaaaaaaaaay!”

Mendy’s even happier. “Brother time,” he says cutely, but I can speak Mendy-ese like no one else, and I know what he’s really saying is, “Thanks for relieving me of the pressure of having to be fun and social with Aryeh Feld.”
Okay, well this is a win-win. And here I was, on my way to a bad mood. Oh, well, I’ll have to find something else to do. Like clean up this room.

I’m nursing a coffee in between getting all the kids out and starting my morning cleanup when Yehudis texts me on Tuesday.

“Hey, Liz. Such hashgachah, Dr. Laura just messaged me that the office was able to get us two spare sensors for Shlomo’s CGM that we can have as backup. They’re on 5th street in Mapleton. It’d be amazing if your husband could save mine a trip.”

And that’s when my heart sinks.

Because I know how important those sensors are, and how they help her son manage his diabetes easily. And I know how annoying it is to go to Mapleton. I also know that Aryeh Feld was prepared to give up his entire Tuesday afternoon for Mendy. He was going to schlep a literal furniture set with Mendy and be there for him when he needed help. Just like Yehudis is always there for me.

But Mendy is just not the kind of guy who will go find some random doctor in Mapleton, knock on the door, and say he’s picking up medical supplies for someone else’s son. Especially if he has to get there early enough before the office closes.

He’s just not.

Just the idea of all of those instructions will stress him out, in addition to renting the truck, driving all the way, then picking up the dresser, taking it apart, and setting it up at home. Which, admittedly, is a big job. Plus playing therapist to Rafi. And if he had to leave work early without knowing about it in advance? Not something I want to spring on him in the midst of all this.

And Rafi’s not an option, because as much as I love my little brother, I am not blind to the fact that he can get lost on the way home from shul. Which is down the block. Just saying.

I swallow, feeling nauseous.

What do I do? How do I handle this without coming off as the worst person in the entire world?

Here I was, ready to take her husband’s help — very aware that it’s a favor on her part as well; she’d be missing out on his help at home — and I don’t want to ask my husband this tiny favor she’s asking.

And now I get angry. At Mendy, for his limitations, which I usually accept as part of his package. At Yehudis, for asking me for the one thing I can’t give her. At myself, for my lack of clarity on what’s the right thing to do.

I pick up my coffee and walk to the window, looking out at the picturesque oak trees lining our block. I’m mad at them, too, for being so steady and calm while my life always feels like it might implode at any given moment. Murmuring a perek of Tehillim, I pick up my phone and dial Yehudis.

“Hey,” she says cheerily. I hear a quiet whirring, and I know she’s already done making all the beds and picking up stray towels. She’s baking chocolate chip cookies, because that’s Yehudis. Her home always smells like Unstoppables laundry scent and warm cookies. Sometimes, I want her to adopt me. Maybe I’d bring my kids along, although I’d have to really think about it.

“Hey, you,” I say. And then I just dive right in. “Yehudis, listen. I don’t know if Mendy will be able to pick up the sensors.” I start to babble. “I know they’re tiny and he’s going anyway. And I know that for you and your husband, it’s a no-brainer. But Mendy gets stressed. He’s so amazing with so many things, but errands and schlepping are not his thing. I’m so sorry, I wish we could be the type of friends that you guys are to us, but I guess right now, we can’t.”

My hands are shaking, my voice is trembling, and I think I have tears in my eyes; I can’t tell because my vision is all blurry.

Yehudis sounds surprised and maybe just a tiny bit forced when she reassures me that she understands.

“Maybe just ask him, though?” she suggests before we hang up.

I tell her I’ll think about it. And I do. I know I can ask him anything, he’s not a scary or intimidating person, but I also know it will come at a price. He’ll be introspective and contemplative, he’ll retreat into himself as he tries to figure out exactly how far he can push himself, if he should, if he doesn’t, what it means, and there goes hours of my day.

On the other hand, Yehudis and Aryeh are incredible friends, ready to give of themselves and their time, selflessly, constantly….

I think about it all so much, I begin to feel like Mendy, which might be an effective validation technique, but it just makes me more annoyed.

And then Rafi comes, and they go to get the U-Haul, and I don’t ask him.

Because when I weighed all the options, it just didn’t seem worth the price — the toll it would take on Mendy, on me, on our marriage. I feel like the smallest person in the world, but isn’t this what they mean when they say we need to protect ourselves?

Wednesday is busy, reconfiguring the room to fit the new dresser — it’s nicer in real life than in the picture, so I’m on a total high — and organizing the girls’ stuff, and I have no time to talk anyone. I almost forget about the whole thing. Until Thursday, when I text Yehudis for her water challah recipe, and she texts back, “Driving from Mapleton, ttyl.” Suddenly, it all comes back, and I can’t help wondering if I’d done the right thing in not asking my husband to push himself, just a bit.

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 916)