In Case You Forgot They Were Listening

Saturday mornings are tough. The boys are up as early as any other day, anywhere between 6 - 7 am, and usually closer to 6. It's the Sabbath, so we don't plug them up with early morning TV, as is the weekday norm, to try and pull off another thirty minutes or so of semi-consciousness before before being jerked towards the reality of custom breakfast platters for each child. Because you can't expect both a two-year-old AND A FOUR YEAR OLD to like the same variety of frozen waffle.

On Saturdays, there isn't much we can do to keep the boys from waking us up and demanding our attention, and it can be tough to suffer politely. Lately, both Y and I are dealing with greater-than-usual work-related stress, and while he has never been a great sleeper, my membership to the insomnia club is relatively new and unfailingly frustrating. Lately, I'm drifting off for the first time all night close to the crack of dawn, and I've never been much of a morning person to begin with.

So when, last Saturday, Elan ignored my eighth 6:15 AM request to quit blowing raspberries of saliva all over my sleep-deprived face in a mad effort to irritate his younger brother, I reached across the bed and clamped my hand over his mouth. Angrily, I'll admit. But, in my half-awake haze, maybe a little harder than I'd intended.

"You smacked me!" Elan wailed to the Heavens. "You smacked my mouth!"

I apologized profusely, and we made up. But when, a few minutes later, Y emerged from the bathroom, Elan quickly seized the opportunity to rat me out.

"Mommy hit me on the face!" he announced, grinning.

Y spun to look at me, eyebrows raised. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, G-d," I said, rolling my eyes. "It was NOT like that. I did NOT hit him on the face."

Y continued to stare.

"I don't hit him!" I said, perhaps a little too loudly - but I was upset. "He was spitting and ignoring me and I covered his mouth. Elan, tell him."

Elan nodded. "Yup. I was spitting, so she hit me."

Y looked at me accusingly. "Mag?"

"Elan," I said seriously. "Parents who hit children for real get in major trouble for it. It's against the law to hurt a child. Parents CAN'T do that."

"The law? So police can put them in jail?" Elan asked.

"Yes," I replied. "It's not something to joke about."

"You'da go to jail??" Ariel chimed in incredulously out of nowhere.

"Yeah, boys, whaddya say?" Y joked. "Should we send Mommy to jail?"

"No!" Both boys yelled, tumbling across the bed to hug me and climb under the covers. "No way! She's ours!"

It turned out to be a gorgeous day. A few hours later, we walked with the boys outside, on our way to friends' for lunch. And we ran into Detective P., a local cop who is also a member of our community, and of great reverence to my children. He lets them hold his badge at shul. In return, they worship him. Not a bad deal.

"Hey guys!" He bellowed, reaching out to high-five each little hand. Elan smiled shyly, ready to hang on his every word.

Ariel, on the other hand, prompty blurted out: "MY MOMMY DA GO TO JAIL!"

"What?" Asked Detective P., leaning down to hear him better.

"Oh, ha ha!" I replied, forcing what I hoped sounded like jovial laughter. Knowing EXACTLY what Ariel had said and EXACTLY why he'd said it, I quickly stepped between them, turning the stroller to leave. "Who can ever tell what he's saying?!" I waved a hand in Ariel's direction. "It's all mumble-jumble to us! Still learning to talk! Ha ha! Well, see you..." I trailed off.

"I SAID, my mommy has to Go. To. JAAAIL." Ariel spelled it out slowly this time, as if talking to a child, to clear up any confusion.

Elan giggled and I flushed. Everybody can understand Ariel - he never mumbles.

"Jail?" Detective P. said in his most child-friendly voice. "Only bad guys, kiddies!"

"Well she -" Ariel began, but Y came to my rescue. He shook Detective P.'s hand and told him we had to get going.

We walked off, and I poked Y in the ribs. "Thanks," I said sheepishly. "I know you were dying to watch that play out."

He grinned. "You, my dear, should just be grateful Elan's too shy to speak to most adults."