Motty runs all the way to the park. The blue swing is his very favorite thing. Mommy walks behind him with her book and sits down on the bench.But the blue swing is busy. Dovi is on it. He goes up, up, up, and his shoes almost touch the leaves. Motty stands and watches. His feet do a little dance."I want a turn NOW," says Motty. His tummy feels fizzy, like a shaken bottle of seltzer. His cheeks puff out. His hands squeeze into little fists.Mommy comes over and kneels down. "Waiting is hard when you really want something," she says. "What could your body do while you wait?" She does not take the swing away from Dovi. She waits with Motty while he thinks.Motty tries counting. "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine..." Then he loses his place. Dovi is still swinging. Motty stamps his foot. Counting did not fix it.Motty looks up. "Dovi," he says, "how many more?" Dovi thinks. "Ten more swings," he says. Ten! Motty can hold ten in his head. His tummy feels a little less fizzy.Motty walks to the sandbox and picks up a little shovel. Scoop, pat, scoop, pat. A sand hill grows. Every few scoops, he peeks up at the swing.Then Motty stands near the swing and counts out loud, one swing at a time. "Seven. Eight. Nine. TEN!" Dovi's swing slows down. It slows down more.Dovi hops off and holds the chain steady. "Your turn, Motty!" Motty climbs on. Mommy gives one gentle push, and the wind tickles his face. Up he goes, just like he wanted.Miri comes into the park and stops beside the swing. She looks at it very hard. "Miri," says Motty, "ten more swings." Miri nods and goes to dig in the sand. Mommy keeps pushing, nice and slow.After ten swings, Motty hops off. On the path home, he skips beside Mommy. "Tomorrow," he says, "I will bring my sand bucket." He already knows just what he will do while he waits.
