I’m working at the kitchen counter, rolling out the dough, and Avigdor walks in. I don’t pay much attention to him except to notice that he’s eating pretzels and crumbs are raining down on the kitchen floor.

“Ima,” Avigdor says, waving a white sheet of paper in my peripheral vision, “I need you to fill out my kibbud eim checklist.”

Checklist. Aha. Just when I thought we were finally finished with the homework hassle.

I sprinkle cinnamon and sugar across the pastry dough, glance at the paper, and then at the clock. Five fifty-three. Dassi had said she’d call around six. That gives me eight minutes. I feel the flutter of paper against the side of my face.

“Here, Ima.” Avigdor has somehow managed to slip himself under my elbow and squeeze into the space between me and the counter. “Look,” he says earnestly, “if I fill this out, I get into a raffle to win a prize. Here.” He shoves the paper under my nose. “Can you fill it out for me?”

“Excuse me.” I gently nudge his hand away. “I need a minute to finish this.”

Two minutes and 24 rugelach in the oven. Is that a record?

I wash my hands and take the paper from an impatient Avigdor. It’s a checklist, all right.

__I spoke respectfully to my mother

__I did something to help my mother

__I stood up for my mother when she came into the room

__I did not sit on my mother’s chair

Underneath, there’s an identical checklist to be filled out by his father.

I fish around for a pen in the junk drawer. “Okay,” I say, quickly checking items off. “You spoke respectfully. You didn’t sit on my chair. But I can’t check off for standing up or helping me, because you didn’t do those things.”

“Well, can you come into the dining room?” Avigdor asks. “And I’ll stand up for you?”

“No,” I say, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. Is this seriously supposed to be teaching kids to honor their parents? “That would be silly. You’ll just have to remember next time.”

“Okay.” He looks down at his list, “Well… I still need to help you. Can I help you make the rugelach?”

“Sorry, zeeskeit, they’re already in the oven. You can wash the mixing bowl for me.”

He looks at me in shock. “I don’t know how to do that.”

“You just wash it. With a sponge and soapy water.”

“That’s too hard. Can I do something else?”

“Hmmm… you can clean your room.”

“Ima!” He stamps his foot. “That’s even harder! How about getting you a drink? That’s what my morah gave for an example.”

“Avigdor.” I wave my hand toward the sink. “I’m standing right next to the sink. If I need a drink, I’ll just take one.”

“Well, I don’t want to clean up my room!”

“Then don’t. You asked how you can help me and that’s the answer.”

He pouts and little tears prick the corners of his eyes. “It’s not fair. You make me do such hard stuff. My morah said we can bring you your slippers or a drink of water. Now I’m not gonna be in the raffle.”

I close my eyes for a moment. “Okay, let’s make a deal,” I say in a gentler tone. “How about you clean up just one thing in your room. Like the Uno cards. Or the puzzle pieces. Pick one.”