T he phone rang just as Max put on his wolf suit and made mischief of one kind.

Moshe pulled on my arm, the one holding the book we were reading. “Mommy, the phone’s ringing.”

“I know,” I said as I turned the page.

“But you’ll miss it.”

“That’s okay, you’re more important.” I reached out and ruffled his hair, and he smiled cheekily. How often do I get to have my cake and eat it too: tell my kid he’s more important than something he thinks might trump him — and get to not answer the phone. Hooray!

I read through the rest of Where the Wild Things Are. Moshe was sleeping by the time I finished. He falls asleep so quickly I wonder if he even knows the end of the story. I kissed his forehead and whispered, “Good night.”

Daniel stood at the bedroom door. “I’m not going to bed to wake up for another stupid day.”

I didn’t have patience for this. If staying up will make him slightly happy at this point, I’d let it be.

“Fine, don’t go to sleep,” I said, then thought a moment. “Come help me in my workshop.”

Daniel gave me a huge smile. Funny, I told him to come just to ensure he wouldn’t wake up the others, I didn’t think he’d actually want to come.

I set Daniel up with some melee diamonds and my microscope and told him to sort them from best to worst — mostly a fool’s errand, but it’ll train his eye for detail and help him learn evaluation skills. Ha. I make myself sound like such a good mother. I checked my e-mail. Susanna had responded to my designs. I clicked on her e-mail.

“It looks so beautiful, and I think I love them all, but like, I wish I could see it in real and then decide.”

Girly, it’s called trust. In the designer. That’s what handmade jewelry is all about. Otherwise buy off the rack. You don’t know what it will look like until it’s done.

I did get her point, though. It’s hard to appreciate some nuances until you see a real ring, 3-D in your hands, full scale, see how thin, thick, whatnot it is.

“You don’t by any chance do like 3-D renderings.”

Like. This woman put like in her e-mails, without editing them out. But really, why had she come to me? She obviously didn’t know the first thing about handmade jewelry — I don’t even use a lost-wax casting.

To me, 3-D printing jewelry is cool but a cop-out. I’m old school like that. But I don’t want to be like a 100-year-old tattoo artist in the Philippines who doesn’t use needles and stuff and people seek her out because she’s authentic, even if her work is a bit dicey.

I don’t want to be that “authentic” person. So pretentious. I want to be the best, and handmade jewelry is a better product, it’s stronger, lasts longer, and is of course unique.

“What’s this for?” Daniel was pointing at my lapping machine. I wanted to focus, could he not keep quiet?

“It’s for polishing jewelry,” I said, forcing a smile. He smiled back, and went back to the chips. Score for patient mommy.

“So I like the first design best, but if you make the prongs more wide set like in the second one, and add in the leaf element, not just the branch like in the third, I think it’ll be great”

Basically a new ring, how predictable are these characters. I flipped through the mail piling up to distract myself: garbage, garbage, garbage, garbage. I stopped at the glossy envelope, I threw it out every year, but now, Susanna is getting in my head. I ripped it open and flipped through it — not a bad idea, if….

I turned to Daniel. “Do you think you could behave and maybe even help Daddy if I wasn’t home for two days?”

I expected an obnoxious no, but he surprised me, that one. His brow furrowed, forming a super-serious face. “I think we can handle it.” (Excerpted from Family First, Issue 555)