“The End-ish,” I proclaimed, snapping the book shut. I smiled at the kids.

“So what did you like about it?” Most of the kids looked at me blankly.

A boy in leggings took his thumb out of his mouth. “I liked the colors,” he lisped.

“Right, so pretty,” I encouraged. I waited for more responses, there were none. I looked up at the moms.

“I loved it,” the mitpachat-wearing woman said.

“Right!” I enthused. “It makes me feel empowered to parent my kids, but, y’know, it also makes me feel a little bad about lost opportunities.”

“Yes! That!” chimed in a brunette. A bunch of other women nodded, but the room went still, so I continued.

“Like I’m not a perfectionist at all. But I remember when I first got married, I tried making something called Yerushalmi kugel, a traditional Jewish food that is often eaten on Shabbat. It’s one of those impossible recipes that calls for caramelized sugar, which none of us Americans can get the hang of, but these people who have lived in Jerusalem for generations have it down pat.

“Well, I tried and it was a fire-engine affair. Literally. And the end of a good pot. That’s not such a big deal, but what was a shame was that when I got a recipe how to fake it, I thought it was too ish, and I stuffed the paper in the back of a drawer. Years later, my daughter tried that recipe, and I realized we’d missed out on years of a food my family might have enjoyed. ”

The women laughed but were nodding in agreement.

“We could all use a bit more ish in our lives,” Sharon piped in. “It’s a shame we allow other people’s judgment to affect how we find joy and creativity in our lives.”

“And don’t we all have an older brother like the one in the book, or maybe we’ve been an older brother like that, telling people that their ideas or projects are worthless because they’re not perfect ?” I looked around. The women looked uncomfortable, as if they’d just realized that weren’t the protagonist of the story, but the antagonist.

“Just kidding!” I winked. “We’re all perfect and would never do something like that.” The group tittered.

The conversation continued, but eventually the kids got edgy, tugging on skirts, asking for snacks, and the group broke up.

Sharon approached me. “First off, thanks.”

I waved my hand. It had been my pleasure, I loved every second.

“Second, you’re a total natural. Not just for the kids, the adults too. This is the most they’ve ever spoken to each other about anything more than what their kids are eating or not eating these days.”

“Really?” I cocked my head. “I thought it was a chevreh, and this was a weekly thing.”

“It’s a weekly thing, but not a cohesive group at all, c’mon, look at them, they’re all so different, they’re not coming together naturally.”

That was true.

“And you have so many smart things to say.”

I do? I do! How did I ever forget that? We walked back to my original seat, my book stack was still there, phew.

“You should sign up to read more often.”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

*****

“…and all the women were talking, real-life talking, and it started with this book I read, it was amazing,” I told Avrumi over lunch. He nodded dutifully.

“You’re not getting it.”

He looked up, set down his grilled cheese, and waited. “I’m going to do this for all my speeches. This is how I’m going to make it my own, more natural, more me, and everyone could do with more picture books in their lives.”

Avrumi looked thoughtful. “Takke, not a bad idea.” He took a bite and chewed slowly. Sometimes he’s too slow and deliberate for me. But then he gave me a huge smile. “Chana, only you can take a matzav that’s not working, and change it up so that it’ll work for everyone.”

He’s so generous, my husband.

I got up to make coffees — one coffee, three sugars for me, two coffee, no sugar for Avrumi.

“On second thought, what do you think Yehudis Schloss will think about the picture books? Based on what you’ve told me about her, she doesn’t seem to appreciate the unconventional.”

My hand poised over the dispense button of the urn, I paused to consider. Then I then pressed dispense. Glorious coffee awaited me.

“I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. Like full-fat milk in my coffee, I think it might be worth it.”

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 694)