Fall in

It's 0-100 hours in the morning. The dishes are washed and put away, the laundry is cleaned, folded, and tucked away in its drawers. I wish I could say the apartment was spotless, but it is pretty tidy. I'm too wired to fall asleep, and as my sweet angel tells me when she can't sleep: "My eyes are telling me I'm not tired."

My eyes may be feeling strained and heavy, but my brain is revving too high for idling.

I had planned to take the kids apple-picking today. This time the weather cooperated, but my son did not. He had no desire to go pick apples, he had his heart set on taking the 2 o'clock flag football class at the JCC. How could I deny him the chance to make friends and get exercise? So the little brigade dawdled at home. I found too many things to clean and put away while I waited for the neighbor to get his clothing out of the washing machine on my laundry day. My children made more messes, and made me crazy with nonstop chatter, and the baby, when she wasn't busy targeting her usual path of destruction, napped. All-in-all a day of frustration and drudgery on the front lines.

Meanwhile, my husband, assuming we were going somewhere, decided to stay home and study. As the morning wore on, it became clear that we weren't going anywhere fast, and he, too, grew more and more frustrated. By the time we were ready to take my son to his football class, my husband and I were fuming at each other.

I finally got my son to his class, my husband to the law school, and a modicum of control back into my life. An hour later, I picked up my beaming son. Not only was he thrilled to be learning a mainstream sport, but he knew some of the boys in the class, including the sweet bully from last week's play date.

I am so relieved to see my son having fun, making friends, and being happy. I am worrying less and less about his adjustment to this new environment, and more and more about my daughter's. Big sister is having a slower go at getting settled in. She still talks a lot about San Antonio, and is giving me the biggest behavioral headaches. I'm no child psychologist, but I suspect her odd rashes may have something to do with it, as well.

I have a two-pronged plan of attack for helping my daughter feel at home. I'm going to send in ground troops in the form of play dates with the little girls in her nursery school, and I'm going to go deep behind enemy lines with a stealth ballet class maneuver. With any luck, her need for constant, undivided attention will fall like a house of cards under my social Shock and Awe.

Meanwhile, I am conducting my own campaign to make friends. I'm following the dictum, "an army travels on its stomach". I'm baking, roasting, sauteing, and souffleeing my way into the hearts and minds of my cohorts. I'm handing out shabbat and holiday invitations like a soldier giving candy to the local kids. On Succot, I'm planning an all-out assault on their defensive line: my world famous Succot Chocolate Chili Tort. No one can resist the complex depth of its chocolaty smoothness and nutty textured crust.

Least of all, me. Time to start my pre-holiday physical training. Time to rally the troops for some serious walking.

Well, it's 0-200 hours. Time to make my bed and sleep in it.