“You’re the worst Tatty ever.” Avrumi kept quiet. Tzvi scowled

"Im not wearing it!” Tzvi burst through our bedroom door, threw a green and blue something in the air, and flung himself onto my bed. He grabbed at his shirt.

“What’s wrong, Tzvik’ele?” I rushed to him and sat beside his prone body.

“It’s itchy and I can’t move and I can’t breathe.”

Yup, newly starched shirt, first time he’s wearing a tie and, oh yes, he’s mildly sensory. Why did I think it was a good idea to buy him new clothes for this shul Shabbaton?

“I know, it can take time to get used to new clothing.”

He looked at me, eyes wide.

“Look at my sheitel, see, it has so many new waves. It’s hard to see sometimes.”

“So wear your pony one, Mommy.”

From the mouth of babes. I wish.

“Sometimes we have to dress up, even when it’s itchy.”

Tzvi frowned and started unbuttoning his shirt. “I’m putting on my regular Shabbos shirt. And I’m flushing the tie down the toilet.”

I started to nod. “Sure, you can — ” But Avrumi intercepted.

“I know you don’t like it, but sometimes we have to do things we don’t like.”

Tzvi locked eyes with Avrumi.

“But I can’t breathe.”

“I know it’s hard, but you can manage. I know you can.”

Tzvi maintained his gaze. “I’m gonna die!”

“You won’t die,” Avrumi’s voice was low and firm. “You’ll just be uncomfortable for a little bit.”

Why was he pushing it? Tzvi was six, who really cares if you couldn’t bounce a quarter off his shirt?

“You’re the worst Tatty ever.”

Avrumi kept quiet. Tzvi scowled, then hopped off the bed, grabbed his tie from the floor, and left the room, shooting a parting warning over his shoulder. “If I die, it’s your fault.”

We both chuckled after he left. I turned to Avrumi. “Breathe in, breathe out. We’re almost there.”