I roll over and promptly fall off the mattress that Mommy had put down on the floor for me. Ouch. Wooden floors, apparently, are not as forgiving as carpet. Sari sits up, bewildered. “Stonesworth,” I remind her, and she nods blearily. Stonesworth. Ugh.

Sari is still sitting on her mattress staring at the blank wall, so I make a beeline for the bathroom. Tzippy is just coming out, hair wrapped in a turban. She gives me a hug. “How was the first night in your new room?” she asks, wrinkling her nose. I shrug. “Walls, floors, tiny window, you know.” She gives my shoulder a sympathetic pat and heads off to start her day. I, on the other hand, am in no rush to face my non-Brownsfeld reality. Ten minutes later I reenter the room to find Sari still sitting in the same place I’d left her.

“Sar?” I say softly, crouching down in front of her. She blinks slowly and shakes her head. “I think it’s just hitting me now,” she says hoarsely. Oh boy.

“Come, Sari, let’s get dressed and then we’ll go down and find something to eat,” I say soothingly, aiming for that perfect, happy, matter-of-fact tone that Mommy has down to a science. I’m pretty sure I fail, though, cause Sari just grunts and flops back on her bed, one arm covering her face. Time to bring in the big guns.

I pull on a slinky skirt and hoodie and shuffle downstairs to find Mommy. I make my way to the kitchen with little trouble — the house is pretty small — and blink in surprise. “Whoa,” I say in disbelief. “Where’d this all come from?”

The kitchen table, a long glass rectangle, is laid out with the cutest sunflower yellow tableware. Platters of pancakes, bowls of blueberries, and little pats of butter are set cheerily next to a pitcher of orange juice and a bottle of milk. Mommy smiles at me from the eggs she’s scrambling on the stove. “When we brought Simchi here, we stopped at Bed, Bath, and Beyond and bought new kitchenware. They were shipped straight here and the Shimonis toiveled them for us. Wasn’t that nice? Speaking of the Shimonis, did I tell you they have a daughter your age? Hadas, I think.”

“Mmm,” I say noncommittally. I don’t want to hear about Hadas Shimoni. I want Rus and Shiri. Hey, I’d even take Mikki at this point. I bite back a groan of self-pity. “Mommy, Sari won’t get out of bed. I think she’s overwhelmed.”

Mommy sighs and wipes her forehead; I notice that she looks tired, there are black circles under her eyes.

“I’ll go check. Can you finish these up, peanut?”

I nod and take over at the stove. Mommy kisses me on the head and leaves.

Abba and Chunah come in from shul and blink in surprise. “Did you… do all this?” Chunah asks dubiously.

I smile sweetly. “I did! I’ve been up since six preparing this spread. Come sit down and I’ll make you some hot chocolate.”

Abba’s grinning but Chunah still looks confused. “Really?” he asks.

I drop my smile. “No, you goof, we moved states, not planets. Mommy made all this. I’m just finishing up the eggs.” (Excerpted from Mishpacha Jr., Issue 715)