I lean my head against the cold metal of the banister. I’m mad. At pretty much everyone in this family

“Levi, stop. Stop! Levi, stoooooooop!”

Why on earth did I think it would be a good idea to take my hyperactive nephew to the park alone? I need like five buffers with me, to surround the little monkey and make sure he doesn’t dive into oncoming traffic.

I am so stressed out, I can’t even breathe.

All I wanted to do today was go over my packing list, make sure everything is clearly labeled, get a haircut, and take a long hot shower before slipping into bed for a long, restful sleep.

Instead, I’m chasing after a three-year-old with enough energy to power the entire G.O., while my too-long ponytail flaps behind me and my shirt is sweat-plastered to my skin. Lovely.

The only thing that could make this worse is if I would bump into Debbi and Zeesy. Fat chance of that happening; last I heard the two of them were “just grabbing lunch at Bagelot and then getting massages at Lani’s.”

Oh. Okay. Me, too.

Levi practically leaps into the park entrance, trips over a rock, and goes flying. Oh, Hashem. Why? Why am I here?

I close my eyes, gathering my strength. It smells like rain and mud and… blood.

My eyes fly open. Levi’s face is smeared red, his nose dripping copiously. Oh, boy. I do not like blood. At all. Not one little bit.

The world starts to spin, green grass and blue sky and muddy grounds swirling together like a child’s finger painting.

Naomi, I tell myself. If there is one thing you are going to do today, it is going to be NOT THROWING UP.

Levi is shrieking, my stomach is churning, and I’m tempted to just turn around and walk away in search of fresh air. But I don’t because, hi, I’m normal. Instead I grab the family cell out of my fanny pack and press hard on the speed dial.

“I need help,” I croak out when someone finally answers. “Help.”