A quick glance at the clock tell me it's already 20:30. A quick calculation tells me it means I have been running between the kitchen and my little angels for the past half hour.
Mommy! Tuck me in!
Mommy! Water, please! If we are running out of water in Israel, it's because of all the children who beg for water a second after their head touches the pillow.
Mommy, my teddy bear dropped to the floor!
Mommy, he isn't letting me sleep!
I'm slightly breathless from all the running.
Two minutes of silence tell me the sleep routine is complete.
My stomach reminds me I skipped lunch today, and no dinner is waiting for my dear husband.
I look around, trying to think of something quick, tasty and healthy to cook.
I clear the counters, filling the dirty pots with water and placing them elegantly on the stove, and pile the dishes in the sink. I sweep, mop and tidy up.
Suddenly I remember the voice of dear Aunt Tzila: if you have no time to cook and your husband is about to arrive, chop an onion and fry it, its smell will make anything appetizing. She laughed and added: it doesn't matter even if all you do later is pour some eggs over the onion, the smell will do its job.
I, a fresh young bride, looked at her then with wondering eyes. Me? Greet my husband with fried onion? My husband will have a three-course gourmet meal every night!
Now I know what she was talking about. I smile to myself, inwardly thanking Aunt Tzila. I chop the onion swiftly.
The smell fills the air as I toss stripes of bell pepper into the pan, add a few chunks of hard cheese I found in the refrigerator, and pour eggs over it all.
I hear the car coming to a stop in the driveway and the familiar footsteps coming upstairs, and cut up salad as fast as I can.
"Mmm, smells delightful. What's for dinner?"
That's my hungry man.
He comes into the kitchen, sniffing and making a move to look into the pots. No! It's not there! I say sharply before he looks. Uh... leave the pots.
So what did you make?
In a stroke of brilliance, I respond: I made Mediterranean omelet with grilled peppers and cheese, and it's served with chef's salad.
Mmm, this sounds delicious, he says appreciatively.
After he has Swiss hot chocolate for dessert (hot milk with some melted chocolate) he asks: "do you need me to do anything?"
"Yes," I say simply, "some dishes."
To his astonishment, I transfer four large pots, full of murky water, from the stove to the sink, which threatens to collapse.
To my astonishment, he doesn't run away or fall asleep on the spot, but rolls up his sleeves and says, "you deserve this after all you did for me tonight."
...I stifled a smile and went out, garbage bag in hand.
On my way to the trash can, I thought that much of our life consists of marketing: how we present things is how they are perceived by others.