Drew and mama on a Friday night.

You bound toward my car
windbreaker clutched in one hand
hair spiky with sunscreen

by the time we reach the bakery
you're vibrating
on the sidewalk you shout for joy

soon you have half a cookie
in each fist, chocolate chips
already smearing your face

we watch the challah
exit the oven, so hot
I won't let you touch it

when I try to sing the blessings
you yell "mommy, stop!"
because it's not the alphabet song

all you eat for dinner
are tufts of fresh bread
but I don't mind

Shabbat means sweetness
even if you don't understand
work or time

or the angels I see peering
through our windows
blessing us that next week

should be just like this one
as you chug watered grape juice
and the tealights gleam

This poem is part of a small but growing series, which includes Early maariv in the toddler house and Havdalah in the toddler house.