This is what a JCC bomb threat feels like

Give baby his morning bottle. Brush teeth. Help preschooler fix a broken toy before school starts. Check phone. Learn that my daughter’s school received a bomb threat.

“I’m not sure I can make it my new normal,” my friend texts me.

So began Tuesday, when my Jewish Community Center in Rochester, N. Y., became the latest target of harassment with a bomb threat, specifically targeting the children’s day care at the JCC.

Since January, JCCs in the USA and Canada have received more than 100 bomb threats, 21 on Tuesday and Wednesday alone.

I knew it was coming. My nephew’s JCC was evacuated in January. And the administration at my daughter’s JCC began testing the emergency communication system last month in the event of a threat.

What is it like to receive a text of a bomb threat at your child’s preschool at 6: 40 a. m.? It’s like this: texts from friends and family, an uptick in comments of love and solidarity on Facebook. And life goes on in our little house, my daughter blissfully oblivious to her mother’s distraction.

“Mom, can I have sprinkle cookies?”

I was saving them for a special occasion. I open the fresh package of cookies and hand over the entire box. Why not?

My sister sends her love via text: “That is such a scary thing to see first thing in the morning. Or to see ever.”

The baby begins to cry from his play mat. He’s overdue for his morning nap. I place him in the swing and he enters the Land of Nod.

I check Facebook. My daughter’s teacher from last year posted a reassuring comment: “Even if your children were with us when getting the threat, we would have taken care of them and protected them as if they were our own.”

I’m amazed how such love and compassion can coexist with cruelty.

“Mom, there’s a monster! He’s getting Sofia. She needs to hex him!” My daughter’s glued to the iPad, typically forbidden on weekdays, watching her beloved Disney show Sofia the First, about a villager who becomes a princess and encounters all manner of mystical creatures.

I check my phone. My aunt sends a note: “We will just carry on. Why be intimidated ... it’s what they want. We are strong.”

And our children are so beautiful.

“I don’t like socks!” My daughter yells as I tell her to get dressed for the day. “Make a cuff!”

I smile at her demands. They seem so innocent even though they typically cause me to grit my teeth. I revel in her exuberant presence. For her it’s a special day because she gets cookies for breakfast and an iPad on her lap.

The monsters are real, sweetheart, but together let’s crush this darkness. I wish I could hex the hoaxers because my love for you is more powerful than any magic spell.

My phone alerts me that the school reopens at 10 a. m.

We will be there.