T
hursday is the last day of my suspension. I spend it sleeping late, helping Mommy cook for Shabbos, and then in a moment of insanity, I offer to clean the toy closet for Pesach. Mommy smirks at me as she hands me a shmatteh and Fantastik spray.
“You definitely know the way to forgiveness,” she says, winking.
Ha ha.
There’s actually something soothing about sorting Magna-Tiles and Clics into their respective buckets, and the hours pass with surprising haste. I finish just in time to help Mommy make dinner, and by the time the family sits down to enjoy a salad of seared salmon and baby spinach leaves, I’m exhausted.
“Being suspended is hard work,” I say through a massive mock yawn that quickly morphs into a real one.
