Someone's been watching The Ten Commandments.

Henry's in a pro-Dad, neutral-on-Mom phase, and I am utterly, completely okay with that. "Only Dad plays right," he tells me, putting a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Oh," I say, and try to look bereft. So I can't sit on the ground and play with guys for hours, is that what you're telling me, son? I have to sit here and read a book or talk on the phone or just NOT PLAY LEGOS while Scott gets all the quality time? I will somehow choke down my disappointment. Somehow.

Scott even won the religion wars. I didn't know we were fighting them, but Henry began and ended the conflict in one devastating blow. Henry and I were talking about his half-Jewish, half-Catholic status, and he asked me, "which one is Dad?" "Jewish," I said, and that was all Henry had to hear. "Then I'm Jewish, too." He kissed me on the cheek. "I love you, but I'm Jewish."

I called the Pope, and we had a good cry over it.

When Scott got home, I told him about our discussion. "What did you decide, Henry?" I prompted.

"That I am a Hebrew," he said, "like my father."

Then Scott muttered something like the metal is ready for the Maker's hand, and they demanded that I set them free, to build their glorious Lego temples to the God of Abraham. Of course I allowed it, for I am a just and benevolent ruler. So it is written, and so it shall be done.

This is what I want to never forget.

We are looking for lucky acorns, because Henry wants to make a wish.

"It should be flat but not broken," he tells me. Everyone knows the Impossible Acorn is the luckiest.

I pick up an un-flat but pretty acorn. "I don't know, Henry, this one feels lucky to me."

He looks it over. "It's not flat, but it's okay," he says.

He squeezes it in his fist and brings it up to his mouth. Clamps his eyes shut, and whispers. Loudly, so I can hear. But I'm not telling you what the wish is, because everyone knows then it won't come true.

He looks at me, nods, then tosses the acorn. "Good," he says. Now we can finish our walk. We're not crossing any more streets, but we hold hands anyway.

Cat's in the cradle, kid.

Come on, guys, it's time to wake up. Hey Dad. Dad. Dad. Dad. Mom, I don't want to cuddle. Stop making me cuddle and wake up. Dad. Dad. Why are you making that mad face? Get up. Get up now. Dad!

I don't want school. I want school to be over and to already be home. I'm going to lie here and scream the hours away.

I can't kiss you goodbye because my friend is over there. Over there! Let go! Stop kissing!

It's going to be so far to walk home. So faaaaaar. It's going to take too long. I don't want to look at leaves. Leaves are stupid. Walking is for idiots. This is taking too long!

I want dinner. Is dinner ready yet? Is it ready now? Now? Now? Now? How about now? I can't help you cook, I'm too tired. Is it ready? What does fifteen minutes mean? Does it mean now?

You don't have to kiss me goodnight, you already did. Another hug? Okay, but just one. DID YOU JUST KISS ME AGAIN?

What has Alice been doing?

Why, preparing for Henry's birthday party, of course!

Which was yesterday. His party was to be a Space Party, as Henry wishes someday to be an astronaut. An astronaut, or a "worker guy." A Worker Guy party sounded, at the time of the party planning, less interesting than Space. Although now that we're done I can see the appeal of a Worker Guy party. Maybe we could have had the kids regrout our bathroom. We'll plan that one for next year.

Because we enjoy suffering, we spent much of Saturday in Party City. We hadn't prepared too well for the Space Party (hello, I lied about spending all this time on party preparation), and we had fewer than twenty-four hours, and surely they had something space-related there. But did you know? According to Party City, you cannot have a Space Party. Or any type of generically themed party.You can have a Go Diego Go! party, if you like. ¡Al rescate, partygoers! But you cannot have a Space Party, because there is no branded character associated with generic Space, so no. No Space Party for you.

We actually went to the strict trademarked-characters-only Party City for one reason, which was to pick up a Rocketship Pinata, as I had seen it on their website. I asked a salesperson where I could find said Rocketship Pinata, and she looked at me like I had asked where I could find the Double Penetration Dildo Pinata. "We don't have that," she said, slowly, so I could understand her despite my obvious idiocy. "I've never heard of that, and we don't have it here, and I'm pretty sure we've never had it."

"Whuh," I said.

"If you want a Diego pinata, I can get that for you! ¡Vamonos!"

"Nuuuuh," I said, and she fed me some kibble.

So then Henry and I traipsed over to the next aisle, where we found a massive display of ROCKET-SHIP PINATAS. And do you know what I did then? Do you? I marched right over to the Diego-peddling salesperson and I barked WHAT DO YOU CALL THESE, MS. PINATA EXPERT? She cowered in fear. And begged my forgiveness, after acknowledging my clearly superior intellect.

You've probably guessed by now that I said absolutely nothing, and you would be correct. I can't feel anything but bad for anyone who works at Party City. She deserves not to know about the rocketship pinata. You go on not knowing, young miss! You go on not knowing until you're free!

By the way, if you want to yell at your child, go to Party City first. You'll blend right in! Every parent at Party City has had it up to HERE with his or her child. It's the place to go if you need to unleash a little pent-up hostility. Hell, you could grab someone else's kid and let 'er rip. No one would be the wiser. And the little kid would be too dazzled by the shiny party favors to mind your tirade.

So what happened next, you ask? Well, next we went insane creating Space Party activities and Space Party favors. I told one of my friends at the party that we actually went back in time to create the space program, just so we could have this party. (Clearly I liked my joke enough to make it again.) A few days before the party another friend mentioned to me that she had one of those inflatable Bouncy Castles in her possession, and would we like to borrow it? Indeed we did. Fast-forward to fifteen minutes into the party, when we realized we could have abandoned the Space theme and simply let the children flail away inside the Bouncy Castle until it was time for them to stagger home. Children who have a Bouncy Castle do not need personalized NASA t-shirts, or a Stick the Astronaut on the Lifeline game, or an Alien Slime-Making project, or a Rocketship Pinata. They may not even need cake. All they want to do is bounce.

In the end, no one vomited or broke any bones, so it was a rousing success. And now my son is home sick with post-party ennui. (Also an ear infection.) Such is the price we pay for showing him too good a time.

P.S.: My son is FIVE. Holy crap.

P.P.S.: Wonderland post from last week, in which I attempt to tackle the giant topic of the vaccination/autism link. Yeesh.