You know your kid is a frummie when

We just got home from the home of my DSIL (domestic sister-in-law), where we spent the first days of Succos. Barak, as always, had a blast--all those kids, all those treats, all those toys! We have been talking about the trip for a while, telling Barak that we were going to go on an airplane ("Hairplane? Hairplane go zoom? Barak go innair hairplane?") We flew there via Chicago, which, if you have not been through O'Hare, is quite an experience for a two-year-old with two parents harboring Luddite tendencies. The escalators! The moving walkways! The HAIRPLANES! And the walkway from terminal whatever to whatever, with those flashing neon lights! Oooohhh.

Before we left I dug up an old, small orange shoulder bag--more of a purse really--from Steve's Packs in Jerusalem. I told him he could pack it himself, which he did, with a stack of paper cups, two combs, and an empty raisin box. I added a sippy cup of water and a full box of raisins, which didn't even make it out the door (the raisins, that is). The bag was a good move. When we got to the airport, it was just so obvious that he felt so... grownup. There he was, walking along just like everyone else, hand on his bag like everyone else. Iyyar was in the sling, other babies were in strollers, but he was walking. The look on his face was something else, and I really really wish I had thought to bring a camera.

He wasn't so pleased, at security, by the idea of giving up bag, shoes, and--horrors--his monkey, but calmed down as soon as he got them back. The flight was fine. And when we got there, he immediately inquired, "Hairplane again?" Not for a few days, sweetie. We walked through the arrivals area, and he was dragging his car blankie along the floor. MHH stopped him and put it around his shoulders. "Why don't you wear it like a tallis?" he suggested. "Yeah," said Barak, agreeably. "Go shul!"

On the way back, we were on a smaller plane, and when we took off the cabin lights were dimmed. Barak didn't like that. "Light on!" I told him I couldn't turn the light on. "Light on please!" "Barak, I'm sorry, I can't turn the light on now. " He thought about this one. And he thought he had it. "No light on Shabbos?" Umm. Not exactly, no. But he liked that idea. And ran with it. "Shabbos ice cream! Shabbos ice cream cone eat it!"

Later, when we finally got back, and Iyyar was asleep and Barak was having a late-night snack of yogurt before bed, and I was in the other room putting things away, I heard him singing. He had asked for ice cream when we got home, but I had said no, as usual, and not thought much of it. And then I realized what he was singing. Sort if like a hint, maybe?

He was singing l'cha dodi.