"I love you!" (or, How we almost lost Hannah)

This morning, what with Ozzie-Noma at shul with Daddy, the twins asleep, and Hannah puttering in the living room, I began cheerily making sock balls from the neglected piles of clean laundry in my room (piles which, by the way, Ezra calls "Har Sinai's") when it suddenly struck me that it was too quiet. I bolted downstairs to find the front door ajar, and  - sure enough! - a pink booted, dinosaur-pj'd Hannah at the very bottom of our steep driveway, talking (phew!) to a nice lady just coming from the neighbors' house. (Barb is a much-sought-after parenting guru, and I can only hope she hasn't bugged our house.) The lady was kind enough not to give me the you're-a-bad-mommy look of horror, graciously letting my conscience do its job. She said sweet things about Hannah, then bent right down to her and asked, "What's your name?" In response, Hannah beamed at her with eyes brimming with deep emotion, and sang liltingly: I loooooooooooooooooove you! 

(More sweet things were said about Hannah, and the small matter of her name handled by Mama.)

Moral of the story? Making sock balls just isn't in the spirit of Shabbos, and I must learn to love all Har Sinais, everywhere. It's time to be a Zen Buddhist about messy Jewish houses (note: not for you, my dear husband) and I'll start by curling up--at least on Shabbos--with a nice, yummy book and shiny, tall glass of tea, the latter resting at least ten inches from all counter edges (good mommy!) and to hell with socks till the three stars are out.