We both are obsessed with our children but find their growing needs overwhelming. We both love to bake and hate to cook, and we both like to keep aesthetically pleasing homes while struggling with laundry and dishes.

I always say you don’t need to be on the same page as your friends, but it does make life easier.

That’s why I was shocked when she called me during bedtime a couple of weeks later. We both hard-core hate people who think that 7 p.m. is a normal time to hold a conversation with someone.

Then I grew worried. “E? Everything okay?”

She laughed. “Yeah, sorry, I know this is an unearthly hour to call. I was just wondering if Donny and I can stop by later? There’s something we want to discuss with you guys.”

Um, that sounded terrifying. “Is everything okay?” I whispered.

She laughed again. “Totally! Sorry for sounding all suspicious, literally nothing is wrong. We just wanted to ask you guys something.”

Well, that just sounds extra suspicious to me, but whatever.

No time to dwell on it, since, you know, bedtime.

Simmi ends up sleeping in my bed, Ricky cries herself to sleep, Moish decides he’s only sleeping in his Purim costume, and baby Yoni is so wide awake, I’m starting to think I accidentally put coffee in his bottle earlier. But hey, they’re all in bed, more or less.

I throw on my wig — that’s how confused I am — then run downstairs, do a perfunctory straightening up, grab some cookies from the jar on the counter, and am just sliding into the foyer when Eliana knocks on the door.

Ephraim pokes his head around the kitchen doorframe. “Who can that be?”

Oops. I may have forgotten one important detail.

“The Mendelsons said they want to ask us something. Sorry, I forgot to tell you!”

I fling open the door, we all say our hellos and how are yous and omigosh bedtime was a killer, and then we head to the dining room.

“Okay, so what’s up?” I say, skipping the formalities.

Eliana looks at Donny. “Well, okay, so the thing is.”

She’s nervous, I can tell. I try to calm my racing heart, reassuring myself that everything is fine.

That’s when Donny jumps in. “You know my brother Noach is engaged. He’s forty years old, we’re all very happy, of course. I’m planning to fly to England for the wedding in two weeks. My parents were hoping all the spouses could come as well since this is their last wedding, so now Eliana’s thinking about making the trip. But we can’t take the kids with us, it’s too expensive and it just wouldn’t make sense. We won’t stay for Shabbos, it’s just Sunday to Thursday, and we were hoping… uh, wondering, if they could possibly stay with you? Baby Rachelli of course would come with us.”

Wow. That was not what I was expecting them to say. I’d been imagining anything from “We decided we can’t be friends with you anymore” to “One of us needs treatment.”

Compared to those scenarios, this is a relief. It’s also awkward. Because there’s no way we can say yes.

I look at Ephraim.

Ephraim looks at me.

We look at the ceiling; Yoni is still babbling away in his crib.

I think about how I almost didn’t make it through my own children’s bedtime. I imagine adding three more kids to that mix. Oh, it’s so awkward. Someone say something.

Ephraim clears his throat. “Wow, mazel tov, that’s great news. Listen, let us think about it, yeah, and we’ll let you know.”

“Sure, take a day or two and think about it,” Donny says. “I know it’s a big deal.”

They leave, and I feel bad they had to hire a babysitter just to come ask us that. I also feel bad that we didn’t reassure them right away that we’d do it.

Ephraim feels no such qualms. “Um, that’s ‘cause we can’t. We can barely manage our own nutcases, how can we take on anyone else’s?”

I grin; our kids are not nutcases, they are just regular healthy children who sometimes act, well, nuts. “‘Kay, but it’s the Mendelsons. They’re such good friends to us. Don’t you think we should do this for them?”

Ephraim is quiet. “I dunno. It’s just a huge ask.”

I nod. “Yup. That’s why they didn’t text us or send an email. They came over. They get that it’s huge.”

And I realize suddenly that I really want to do this for my friend. I finger a scratch in the wood, trying to figure out how to say this.

But Ephraim surprises me by saying, “You’re totally going to do it, aren’t you?”

I blink at him. “How’d you know that’s what I was going to say?”

He grins. “I know you. And I know how much you value your friendship with Eliana.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Are you on board?”

Ephraim sighs and rubs his forehead. “Honestly, not really. I can’t see how you’d be able to take on three extra kids and juggle your clients. You have to drive into Brooklyn for a wedding next week, you told me you have that family with six girls coming in the week after, and didn’t you say another family texted you? That’s two huge days the week of this wedding. How can you take care of the house, the kids, plus Eliana’s kids? You’re already superwoman, I feel like maybe don’t push it.”

I kind of want to push it.

Ephraim says he’ll support me, but I feel like that may be difficult for him.

The next few days are a little uncomfortable. I know Eliana’s waiting for me to get back to her; there’s a little tension underlying every funny text we send each other. Eventually she tells me that she knows I’m under pressure to say yes and I shouldn’t be; if she can’t go, Donny will go alone. That’s what they’d been planning during the whole engagement, and her mother-in-law understands.

I laugh, because when you tell someone not to be pressured, obviously they will be, but whatever. It’s a nice gesture, and also, I know that as much as Eliana wants to go, she means it. Our friendship will handle if having her kids for a week is too much for me.

I go back and forth with Ephraim every night for three days before I tell Eliana we’ll do it. He’s still not into it, but he sees how much I want to stretch myself for my friend, and he says he’s on board. Eliana is ridiculously grateful.

We go over schedules and allergies and bedtime-stuffed-animal must-haves and each instruction just makes me more nervous. But I’m all in. I can do this. It’s one week, and I’m giving my friend the gift of a lifetime.

I was worried that Eliana’s kids wouldn’t let her leave, but it starts off great; the kids are all excited about a sleepover. I decide to be ambitious and make challah since I’ve been doing this l’hafrish initiative, and giving the kids a piece of dough to make their own took up a good chunk of our Sunday. Between the chocolate chips and the sprinkles, the challahs came out quite interesting looking, but hey, everyone had fun. I text Eliana pictures of the kids playing happily to greet her when she got off the plane.

Bedtime was also easier than expected — I told the kids they could schmooze if they did it quietly, and they all got a big kick out of that. I could hear them whispering exaggeratedly as I staggered down the steps to tackle the main floor.

Ephraim comes into the playroom to help me. His eyes widen just a bit at the mess, and he gives me a half-smile.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m bombed. I knew I would be. But they’re really great kids and the week will fly by. It’s not like our playroom has never looked like this before.”

Day two goes surprisingly well. The girls march proudly to the bus together, excited to tell their friends about their night. They come home and do their homework together, I pull out a dinner Eliana made to make this easier for me, and I only have to remind them not to talk loudly three or four times after I put everyone to bed.

But by Tuesday, the novelty of it all is starting to wear off. I’m at work with the large wedding party, and the babysitter basically runs out of the house after I pay her, so I’m guessing it hadn’t gone very well. We save the day with a pizza party, and tonight there is absolutely no schmoozing. The noise is killing me. I literally cannot handle. And don’t get me started on the mess.

But it’s the next day that does me in. I move my faces to late morning and cancel the babysitter, figuring the less upheaval for the kids the better. But the day starts out on the wrong foot, and it goes downhill from there. The kids got out to school late, Ricky and Moish swapped bags, so she came home crying that all her friends saw diapers in her bag. The baby is teething, won’t let anyone but me go near him, and he also won’t let me put him down. It’s going great.

And then, I’m nursing my third coffee, trying to put something together for supper, when I abruptly walk over and snatch a ball out of Eliana’s Shua’s hands like a crazy person. But he was bouncing it over and over and over and it was either put the ball or Moish into the closet.

The clincher is when Eliana’s six-year-old Chani and my six-year-old Simmi both reach for the same bag of chips at the same time. And of course, we only have one bag of barbecue left — who has time for things like food shopping when there are seven children in the house? In the past five minutes, that bag has become a more precious commodity than toilet paper during Covid.

They are both really sweet girls, and they usually play so nicely together. But I think it’s a case of too much time together and too little sleep. The screeching and yelling have reached new levels, with Moish joining in and the boys taking sides.

And suddenly, I just can’t. Not for one more second.

I grab the baby and head to my room, slamming the door hard enough behind me to cause the floor to shake. And then I dissolve in a good cleansing cry. I put the baby in his crib with a teething toy, curl up with a book, and promptly fall asleep.

When I open my eyes, I can tell that too much time has passed.

Oh no oh no oh no.

Staggering awake, I throw open the door, stumble down the stairs and into the kitchen. I stop when I see Ephraim, his back to me, standing at the sink, washing a huge stack of dishes.

Remnants of a spaghetti supper line the counters, and the kids are nowhere to be found.

“Everyone’s asleep,” he says, not turning around.

I don’t know what to say. I feel like the worst person in the world. Which is really really sad, since it’s a result of me just trying to be a giving person.

“I — thank you, Eph,” I say weakly.

He doesn’t answer.

Finally, it’s Thursday. This last day goes by in a blur of regret and over enthusiasm. Like, please remember I’m the cool mom and not the crazy lady who abandons you all so she can cry. I make them pancakes for breakfast; they’re pumped, but Ephraim thinks I’m being a martyr.

The kids come off the bus to my house, though luckily, it’s only a half hour — enough time for a snack — before Eliana comes to get them, arms filled with gifts for both my family and her kids. I bring her their overnight bags, and I ask her how the trip was. We make small talk, and I hear my own voice: I don’t sound sincere.

It’s Thursday, she’s jet-lagged, and I know a stronger person would offer at least dessert for Shabbos, but I literally can’t meet my best friend’s eyes. I’m just so wrung out; I feel brittle. I also think of what Ephraim would say….

A week later, I realize I’m delaying opening Eliana’s texts. I know this will pass — I’m not not going to be friends with her — but I still wonder if taking her children was the right thing to do.

In the end, Ephraim was right. It was too much for me. But I’d just wanted to be a good friend. Had I sacrificed my family calm on the altar of friendship? How do I know when it’s right to stretch and when it’s okay to know your own limits?

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 936)