Shalom at Home

In March, Rafy, our three-year-old son, started talking about Mitzrayim (Egypt). I was awfully proud. A poster child for Jewish preschool, I thought.

We have all started to pore over the lists sent home from our children’s overnight camps. Eleven pairs of underwear, 18 shirts, 16 pairs of shorts, a thousand pairs of socks, and all for just 21 days.

Dear first time camp parent,

“Don’t Tell Me to Keep Calm; I’m a Jewish Mother.”

Welcome to Senior Spring. That’s what my heart feels, even if my head hasn’t caught up.

There’s a silly little cartoon I’ve seen a few times. An older man, one arm around his son, the other in a grand sweep before him, says, “Someday, son, this will all be yours!”

I’m not sure you’ve heard (are you living under a rock?), but we’re just months away from being center stage.

By the time you read this you might be:

• Elbow deep in Elmer’s Glue, putting the last touches on your child’s classroom Valentines box,