It only took half an hour to get the glowing newlywed look complete, and at long last, she was ready to face the world

Golda Rosen prided herself on being a focused person. She wasn’t a big believer in labels; when Aryeh’s rebbeim would bandy about terms like ADD and dyslexic, she’d come home and implore her middle son to just focus.

She felt terrible about that now, especially after his divorce. Was it her fault? Could she have done more, been there more, seen more?

Dovid was adamantly opposed to guilt. “Jews move forward, Sedom looks back,” he liked to say. Which actually only added to her feelings of guilt.

Today, even with all of her prized focus, she somehow got lost in thought on the way home from the Butcherie and had wound up on Williston just when the boys’ school was let out.

She wasn’t used to this. Wasn’t used to being so wrapped up in herself and her thoughts that she lost her way. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

She didn’t like it. Not one bit. Golda Rosen was a giver, a doer. She didn’t drive around wistfully, dreaming of a different life.

Now she’d driven by rote as her mind had wandered. All those years of rushing to pick up the boys after Tuesday shopping had created muscle memory, never mind that she hadn’t done elementary school pickup in over seven years.

“Accept what you cannot change.” Another one of Dovid’s gems. Well, then, she definitely wasn’t changing carpool traffic. She leaned back in her seat, turned the AC on full blast, and ripped open a bag of chocolate-covered almonds. Might as well be comfortable.