A little boy's sorrows

Sunshine is here, and we are all happy. I because life is just beautiful when everything is bright and sunny, and Yair because he can stroll around the garden, build castles in the sand, eat ice cream, ride his bicycle, and simple be a little boy. No wonder he fights off his afternoon nap screaming and kicking until he drops completely exhausted onto his pillow. (I should mention that the next low is approaching quickly, ready to hit us no later than tomorrow... with more rain than anyone would want.)

But not everything is mere mirth (David, this is for you).

Yair misses his daddy. Yesterday we called him -- he is settling in, with a new cell phone being his first acquisition --, and when I reached Yair the receiver, he pressed it firmly to his little ear, listening intensely for a few seconds. Then his face lightened up. "Shai!" he exclaimed (for some strange reason, he has fallen back into a habit long overcome, of calling us by our first names). "Eifo ata?" (Where are you?) Then, a little quieter: "Ani rotze otcha." (I want you.) For Shai, these few words were compensation enough for not having heard his son's voice for more than three days.

Yair is also afraid. Afraid I might leave him alone, vanishing to America just like his daddy. Once in a while, a few times a day, he looks at me and says: "Ima, al tilchi li leAmerica levad!" (Mommy, don't go to America alone!) Isn't it curious just how such a little brain works? How can he even think I would leave him here all by himself? Soon enough, we will board the plane just like his daddy. Together.