Women and Shoes and Blessings Part II

An hour after I posted the last entry, I left my office, walked twelve paces into my house and heard the dangerous sound of someone reciting the numbers to my credit card. I knocked on the door to Chloe’s room and entered. There, Offspring Number Three was pacing the floor with portable phone in one hand and credit card in the other. “What’re you doing?” I asked, as if I didn’t know. “Ordering,” she responded, “Size six… yes… in gold…” she said into the receiver. “Ordering what?” I asked. Chloe kicked up her heel, a Jewish Ginger Rogers, displaying sandals that glittered in the late afternoon sun: “Ordering these, Daddy. Aren’t they cool?” “Cool beyond words. But you have them already, ” I protested lamely. Chloe looked at me as if looking at a slow child, tolerantly but with affection. “These are Lila’s, Daddy, can’t you tell?” “Uh, no.” “So I need my own pair.” “Can’t you just borrow?” I asked weakly. “Daddy, that’s soooooo gross, eeuuuu!” Offspring Number Two, Lila, stepped into the room and began to braid Chloe’s hair. I stood there and watched them for a long moment. They reminded me of happy little gorillas grooming each other with ferocious attention to detail. I watched them and I smiled happily. “Daddy, are you laughing at us?” said Lila. “No, no, I’m just glad Chloe ordered the shoes.” “You are!?” They looked at me suspiciously. “Yes, absolutely. A woman can’t have too many shoes, right?” They exchanged baffled glances. “Right, sure,” they assented. I closed the door, went into Ariel’s room and sat at his desk. I looked at one of his Torah notebooks, opened it to an intricate discussion of the laws redeeming the victim of a kidnapping. I read Ariel’s notes, but soon enough I was lost. The arguments across the centuries by the various sages were far too complicated for me. I touched the notebook. I looked at Ariel’s beautiful handwriting. He only used fine fountain pens. I listened to the girls giggling in the other room and soon thick tears were cutting channels down my face. I cried in Ariel’s room because I so badly wanted to tell him about the girls. I wanted to celebrate their beauty with him, I wanted to share their moments of glorious frivolity with Ariel. But I couldn’t. And I have to get used to it. For if I don’t I will become bitter and angry. No, I must sculpt a new housing for my joy.