Shloimele was my hope. He was on the brink of the terrible twos, and he now listened to me with ever more humor, laughter, an openness to change and learning. I let him sit in my lap as we watched Sesame Street on the “picture.”La la la la, la la la la la, Elmo’s world!I loved it, I loved it! Gagaga cookie! All the colorful characters, the passionate fun in learning, the respect these creators had for children that they bothered to explain to little two year olds instead of just shoving them blindly about.Elmo, and even Yossef Mendel and I sang, “It’s potty time…And you know where to go.” Never had a song flushed me so with idealism. Here was a message to children that what they would be asked to do would be explained to them with honest communication, with reasoning. It was so unlike the traditions around me, where the tape of the disposable diapers was ripped off, the confused child plopped onto the toilet and then hit him on the palm—or worse, the tushy—and meant to figure it out from being screamed at for peeing on the floor. This was humane.Elmo sang, “Accidents happen, and that’s ohh-kay!” It was silly, it was Elmo’s thin voice, and my baby boy’s yabbering along, but I felt so hopeful. Accidents happened, but I could forgive them in my family and in myself, I could practice communication and openness, and it would be okay.