“Tell me all about your day,” I say, my hand twirling one of his peyos.

He lights up, eager to share. “Today Moshe was a chassan. His tatty and mommy and baby sister came, and even his zeidy was here from America. Moshe cried when he had to eat the egg, because you know, his whole body hurts him when he eats eggs. We even got a pekeleh.”

With his right index finger tapping one finger at a time on his left hand, he counts. “So now we only have, one, two, three… four, five! Five girls (a.k.a. boys who haven’t yet had an upsheren) left in our kitah.” His face is pure concentration, yarmulke slightly askew, his hands working through the math with adorable seriousness.

Then his little, paint-stained hands shift to his bag, and he’s searching for something intently. His smile fades, and I watch as he rummages through, then slowly looks up, his lower lip starting to quiver. “Where is…?”

Uh-oh. Telltale signs that a storm is coming.

I practice positive thinking, but all the tricks for avoiding tantrums are spiting me. He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand, then tugs at the sleeve of his shirt, sniffling. Every one of his facial features drops by two inches.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Please, not another tantrum.

But it’s coming on full force. The kid is inconsolable.

He’s melting into a puddle.

“It’s only a pekeleh,” I try. “Tell me what it had inside and we can make you a new one.”

“I ate everything up. I only saved the chocolate bar.”

“What type was it, cutie? I’m sure the supermarket sells it.”

He stifles a sob, looking up at me with teary eyes. “I ate it all… except for the chocolate bar. It was the red one that you can break in half. Inside, there’s a wafer — do you know the one I mean?”

“A kifkef? Sure, I know which one! The grocery is full of them.”

I can get him a mini one. I can get him a large one. I can get him a multipack.

“But, but… I wanted you to have it,” he hiccups. “I saved it for you, Mommy. I wanted you to have it with your coffee.”

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 930)