To Life
We had just sat down to the dinner table and begun to eat when Elias interrupted our conversation by holding up his sippee cup and humming something that sounded like, “Luuum!” My husband and I stopped talking and looked at each other, then looked at Eli.
--What do you need, sweet boy? More milk?
--Laa Um!
He shoved his cup higher in the air. I moved my hands in anticipation, worried that he was going to throw his cup at me. But he didn’t throw it. It took me a minute, but I realized as Eli said it for the third time, that he was toasting us.
--L’Chaim! He’s saying L’Chaim!
We raised our goblets back to him and all said “L’Chaim” in unison. Pleased with himself, Elias tinked his plastic to our glass, took a hefty swig of milk, and went to picking at what was on his plate, as if that entirely monumental event had been no big deal at all. I, on the other hand, was ecstatic.
My husband and I usually have wine with dinner and we usually begin our meal with a toast. Sometimes I'll say "Salud" or Jonathan will say "Prost," but usually it's that phrase. It’s a traditional Jewish toast that means “To Life.” For whatever reason, we had forgotten that night. We had poured the wine, but neither of us remembered to make the toast. So Elias remembered for us.
In the last year, I have thought very consciously about what this moment might be: the first time Elias would give me a surprise reminder that he is learning from us every second, wee sponge that he is. You hear about these moments from mothers of toddlers all the time: He used a curse word in the right context… He pointed his finger menacingly at the dog and shouted “quiet” when the doorbell rang… He thought pretending to drive the car included pretending to talk on the cell phone…
It is humbling to see our daily behavior, for better or worse, through the all too honest eyes of our children. More often than I’d like to admit, the gestures that toddlers pick up aren’t really the things mommies want to be reminded they do on a regular basis. So when Elias toasted us at the table, I was liberated. His tiny gesture is enough for me to imagine that on some level, to some degree, I might be passing on some subliminal goodness amidst all the other subconscious lessons I teach him.
Sure, he’s picked up the odd curse word, he’s learned a genuine lack of patience for the family pet, he believes dialing my sister’s phone number is the logical next step to putting the key in the ignition. But he also knows a beautiful Jewish toast.
He knows when to say it. And he knows how to say it. And he knows to raise his glass. And he knows to imbibe afterwards.
I have been redeemed.
--What do you need, sweet boy? More milk?
--Laa Um!
He shoved his cup higher in the air. I moved my hands in anticipation, worried that he was going to throw his cup at me. But he didn’t throw it. It took me a minute, but I realized as Eli said it for the third time, that he was toasting us.
--L’Chaim! He’s saying L’Chaim!
We raised our goblets back to him and all said “L’Chaim” in unison. Pleased with himself, Elias tinked his plastic to our glass, took a hefty swig of milk, and went to picking at what was on his plate, as if that entirely monumental event had been no big deal at all. I, on the other hand, was ecstatic.
My husband and I usually have wine with dinner and we usually begin our meal with a toast. Sometimes I'll say "Salud" or Jonathan will say "Prost," but usually it's that phrase. It’s a traditional Jewish toast that means “To Life.” For whatever reason, we had forgotten that night. We had poured the wine, but neither of us remembered to make the toast. So Elias remembered for us.
In the last year, I have thought very consciously about what this moment might be: the first time Elias would give me a surprise reminder that he is learning from us every second, wee sponge that he is. You hear about these moments from mothers of toddlers all the time: He used a curse word in the right context… He pointed his finger menacingly at the dog and shouted “quiet” when the doorbell rang… He thought pretending to drive the car included pretending to talk on the cell phone…
It is humbling to see our daily behavior, for better or worse, through the all too honest eyes of our children. More often than I’d like to admit, the gestures that toddlers pick up aren’t really the things mommies want to be reminded they do on a regular basis. So when Elias toasted us at the table, I was liberated. His tiny gesture is enough for me to imagine that on some level, to some degree, I might be passing on some subliminal goodness amidst all the other subconscious lessons I teach him.
Sure, he’s picked up the odd curse word, he’s learned a genuine lack of patience for the family pet, he believes dialing my sister’s phone number is the logical next step to putting the key in the ignition. But he also knows a beautiful Jewish toast.
He knows when to say it. And he knows how to say it. And he knows to raise his glass. And he knows to imbibe afterwards.
I have been redeemed.
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