Not a great night. Not a terrible night, but not one that I’m going to want to relive any time soon.
It’s Friday night, and we always do Shabbat dinner. Almost always. But every now and again, something will come up and plans will change. This Friday, our rabbi is hosting Challah-ween, and it’s a huge party, with between 20-40 people. In other words, it’s the last place in the world that Sam wants to be. Julie wants to go, Marc thrives in settings like this, and even Jessie was happy to go. As long as I was going. Or Lilli or Sarah. Just someone other than her dad, who will get caught up in conversation and not necessarily notice my little introvert who’s feeling awkward and out of place. Someone other than her little sister, who is just as introverted, if not more so – and will need at least an hour to come out of her shell. Who will, in fact, spend much of that hour it takes clinging to Jessie and asking to go home.
Lilli and Sarah were supposed to be going – and I felt so guilty about not doing Shabbat at home tonight that I offered to take Sam’s friend home from school and keep him overnight. Jessie would be fine, and I could write, or crochet or binge watch West Wing.
I came home from work, and checked the mail. I got a letter from the Massachusetts Commission for the Blind, notifying me that they have received notification that Sam is officially legally blind, and must surrender his license to drive immediately. Which, okay, I knew was coming, and he’s ten, so not so much driving right now. And there’s no guarantee that he WON’T ever be able to drive, especially since he hasn’t been able to sit thru and participate in a vision exam, so it’s entirely possible that he can get a pair of glasses. And he’s only ten, so his optic nerve is still “squishy” (that’s the technical term) and may improve on it’s own.
Then we realized that the girls aren’t going – and my poor Jessie… I just felt like crap. It’s not a big deal, she went, and she’ll be fine – but still… I felt like crap. I feel like crap. I hate being torn between the kids – like either choice I make is going to screw over one of them, and it’s just a matter of choosing which one can deal with it better at that point. And in this case, there was nothing I could do. Devin was already here, and the best I could do is offer to let her stay home. Which she didn’t want to do.
All in all, a crappy night.
But the girls are off with Marc, and Sam and his buddy are tucked up with Netflix, take out chicken, and French fries. I’ve got West Wing, and a salad, and three books on tap to read. So all is not lost.