It’s Saturday morning. Lilah is still not 100% and probably oughtn’t be out and about, so my breasts and I will be staying put all day. With much grumbling on his part, J is taking the boys to the synagogue for Tot Shabbat, which is a new program once a month. We haven’t been yet, but as far as I can tell, it is religion disguised as singing and craft projects.
I am putting the finishing touches on two-year-old Benjamin. “Where going?” he wants to know.
“Daddy’s taking you and Zachary to Tot Shabbat,” I tell him.
“Yeah!” he assents enthusiastically. “Going Tot Shabbat. Michael’s house.” Although the child is fully capable of grammatical sentences, when he is telling a long story, sometimes he opts out of certain essential parts of speech. I ask what he means. “Going Tot Shabbat Michael-Xander’s house eat in restaurant!”
“Um, well, let’s just start with Tot Shabbat, OK?”
I get them all out the door and sit down to feed Lilah, who during her hospitalization has gotten into the habit of sleeping in my arms. She is dozing on and off an hour and a half later when J calls.
“We’re going over to Michael and Xander’s house for a little while.”
“Oh, good,” I reply. “Ben was just saying this morning he wanted to go there.”
Another hour passes and I hear from my husband again. Clearly, he is still at our friends’ house. “Are you eating lunch there?”
“No,” he says. “But do you mind if I take then to Souplantation for lunch?”
I need to make it very clear that not only have we never been to Tot Shabbat, we have also never combined a trip to the synagogue with a visit to our friends, nor a visit to their house with lunch at a snazzy all-you-can-eat salad bar. Somehow, though, the day panned out just as Benjamin had fantasized it would be.
The Rabbi playing his guitar, a play date, and unlimited peas. My toddler’s ideal morning.