This afternoon, while working on some simple math homework, my son told me that he simply just couldn’t continue. When I inquired as to why, I was told “My hands are too little, Daddy.”
Ah. I understand completely.
All too often the obstacles in life have knocked me down, set upon me with slings and arrows because of my diminuative though murderous mitts. My son’s pain I knew too well. Too well indeed.
And then he makes off with the Wife’s glasses. Because apparently his hands are too little for simple addition work but not for eyewear thievery…
You realize that Little Dude is wiser than all of us, and I fully am counting on him to come up with the invention or idea that will allow me to make money napping as I aspire to do for the rest of my life. Tara misses him! (that is her message.) You guys rock!
Thanks! And while I’m sure Little Dude’s something, I’m not sure it’s “wiser.” -_-;
I prefer “wiser” to the more paranoid “he has our numbers” or rules us by whim. Although Tara has pretty much weirded me out more than any other child can do…