On Sunday, I was supposed to take Elijah to the aquarium in Long Beach, one of his favorite places in the world. Regina needed time to paint decorative butterflies on a wooden table. When Elijah woke up, mercifully, at 8:15 AM, he wasn't in much of an aquarium mood.

"I just want to sit around the house all day," he said.

"No, you don't," I replied.

"I'll be good."

"You will destroy every possession that I love, and some of them on purpose."

"Daddy, you're a poo-poo knucklehead."

"Don't call me a poo-poo knucklehead."

"OK, pee-pee face."

"You're a genius."

So the aquarium was out.

"What do you want to do today, Elijah?" I asked.

"I want to marry JoJo."

"Weddings take a long time to plan. What else do you want to do?"

"Go to JoJo's house."

We were not going to JoJo's house. JoJo's parents, unlike certain parents I know, usually plan things to do with their kids on the weekend. Fortunately, a nearby friend, who I will call Cinderella to protect her identity, is often available.

I called Cinderella's mother and asked for a last-minute playdate.

"Oh, thank God," she said.

Sooner rather than later, Cinderella's mother pulled up into our driveway with Cinderella and Cinderella's 17-month-old sister, who was asleep in the car. The mother looked very tired. I was surprised that she didn't walk straight into our screen door.

Immediately, Cinderella and Elijah ran off to his room. Cinderella's mother staggered around our living room for a bit, trying to say something coherent.

"I think I need to take a nap in the car," she said.

"Go ahead," I said. "I've got everything under control here."

About a half-hour later, upon determining that the Saints-Redskins game was a dud both for fantasy and regular football purposes, I peeked in on Elijah and his friend. He had his sweatpants off and was playing with his penis through his underwear. Cinderella was reaching under her dress as if to remove her panties.

"I'm not going to take off my underwear," she said.

"That's good," I said.

They both stared at me uncomfortably, as though I'd interrupted them having sex or something.

"Let's go into the living room and have a dance party," I said.

An hour-and-a-half and two grilled-cheese sandwiches later, the playdate was ending. Cinderella's mother had roused and was hanging out with me in the living room. We'd decided, after much conversation, that our children were smart and sensitive and that the world didn't understand them.

At that moment, Elijah ran up behind Cinderella, put his arms around her neck, and began rubbing up and down on her.

"What the hell are you doing?" I asked.

"We're humping," he said.

Cinderella's mother looked mostly amused. Elijah had picked the right girl to hump in front of her parent.

"That's not acceptable," I said. "You don't do that in public. In fact, you don't do that at all. You're too young."

But then I realized that I sounded a bit prudish. After all, I pride myself on being very sex-positive.

"Oh, just cut it out right now," I said. "I'm not in the mood to see this."

So they switched places. Cinderella stood behind Elijah, rubbing up and down on him.

This was not what I wanted to see, either.

"Please, please stop," I said.

*****

Later that day, we went to my sister's house to celebrate Chanukah. Regina and I did most of the cooking. She roasted a chicken and I made latkes. My sister and brother-in-law are perfect if you want to drop by their house and mooch a can of seltzer or a bag of pretzels, but if we're having a family dinner, it's best that Regina and I cook.

Elijah and his cousin Ali played fairly well together, though Hercules probably would have enjoyed his visit more if they hadn't beaten him over the head with a stuffed horse. To distract the children from further dog abuse, my sister decided to have them decorate homemade cupcakes. At 7 PM. On a Sunday.

By 7:30 PM, having ingested about half a teacup full of frosting and several handfuls of sprinkles, Elijah was writhing on the ground, sobbing for no reason other than he wanted to finish eating the cupcake that he hadn't shown any interest in eating.

"I want my cupcake," he said. "I want my cupcake. I WANT MY CUPCAKE!"

Then he stood up, screamed, and ran over to his cousin, arms extended, as though he was going to strike her repeatedly in the face.

My sister stopped him.

"Keep your hands to yourself," she said.

"Someone might have had a little too much sugar," said Regina.

"You think?" I said.

Soon, I was carrying Elijah to the car. He repeatedly smacked my face, while screeching,

"I want my cupcake! I want my cupcake! I WANT MY CUPCAKE!"

You know, I thought, there are worse things than humping.

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