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.