Avodah Sheb'lev II

Here's another honorable mention, submitted by our contest's resident fiction star, and former winner, Alona Stewart:

The clock in the kitchen said 6:14, and the sheet of paper stuck to the fridge said Candle lighting: 6:26.  The problem was the proximity of those two times.
Dina was a mess. The chicken was maybe seconds away from burning, the table wasn’t set, and there were four kids screaming from four different directions. She reached up to wipe her forehead but realized just in time that she was already in her good white sweater; she sighed and grabbed a towel instead.
Footsteps clattered downwards, nearly drowning out the sound of the oven timer. “IMA!” Her fourteen-year-old son slid into the room, wearing a t-shirt and with a dress shirt over his arm. “The stain’s not out! You said you’d wash it and get it out and it’s still there, see, and what am I supposed to wear?”
“The chicken’s almost done, you’re going to have to wait!” She turned and jerked open the oven door, gave its contents and appraising look, and shut it again.
He was glaring at her. “Ima, just listen! I don’t know what to wear! My other shirts are in the wash!”
She lunged down to the cabinet that housed the tablecloth. “You’ll have to find something else! It’s too late for me to do another load of laundry now!”
“But—”
“I can’t help you right now!” She straightened up with the tablecloth, checking the oven again as she moved towards the dining room.
His yell chased her there. “If you’d just gotten the stain out in the first place we wouldn’t have this problem!”
She pulled the tablecloth straight (a job for two) and checked on the chicken again. As she took it out she yelled for someone to put out the plates and cutlery and after several minutes of very loud and angry back-and-forth her two middle children agreed.
Dena rubbed her face with the towel again and glanced at the clock. “FIVE MINUTES TO SHABBOS!”
“What?” Her daughter shrieked. “Ima! I didn’t finish my homework! You took away all my time to work on my math worksheet and now I’m going to have to do it on Sunday! It’s not fair!”
“Aviva, how long did it take you to set the table? Three minutes? Just pack up your books, it’s almost Shabbos!”
Aviva gave a little muffled scream and stormed upstairs to her room.
Dina looked around the house, ticking off the checklist in her head. Halfway through, she realized that SpongeBob was still blaring out of the TV and her youngest, Eliana, was staring at the screen, eyes glazed over.
She grabbed the remote and switched it off. The effects were instantaneous. The girl began to scream.
“I WANNA WATCH IT! I WANNA WATCH IT!”
“You have to turn it off, honey, it’s almost Shabbos,” said Dina as kindly as one could to a five-year-old crying over a walking sponge.
“I HATE SHABBOS! IT ALWAYS COMES AND I HAVE TO TURN OFF THE TV AND I HATE IT!!!”
Dina gave her an exasperated look, then realized just how close it was to candle lighting and hurried into the dining room. “I’m lighting!” She yelled as she struck the match.
When she uncovered her eyes Eliana’s screams had faded to sniffles and her son was coming down the steps in a relatively unwrinkled shirt. “Good Shabbos,” she smiled at him, and he smiled back. She went back into the TV room and picked up Eliana. “Good Shabbos! Do you want to play a board game?”
The girl sniffed one last time and nodded, burying her wet face in Dina’s shoulder.
Dina somehow managed to get out “Sorry” with one hand, and set it and Eliana down at the kitchen table. “Guys, we’re playing ‘Sorry’ if you want to!”
They all came, all smiles, and calm descended on the house like the night.