I’m half-way through a too-long afternoon. The sky is stone gray and growling. The walls of my house are starting to close in on me like the trash compactor in Star Wars.
I am unsuccessfully mopping apple juice concentrate off my kitchen floor. Or I am cleaning out the sink and up to my knuckles in fermenting cornflakes muck. Or I am losing yet another fight with my two-year-old.
But then I look at my apron and I feel like Superman after he puts on his cape.
I might be all of these things. But I’m also an Eshet Chayil! I know so because my apron says so!