“Hey, who you calling Spoon Head?”
I told my youngest daughter off for slouching at the table and toying with her cornflakes.
She looked up at me blankly and then her face brightened and she sat up.
“Hey, Dad,” the five-year-old said.
“What?”
“Did you know that you look like a spoon?”
“What!”
“See,” she said, holding out her spoon with milk dripping down. “You look like a spoon.” [continue reading…]
“I’m smiling, are you?”
My two youngest children are fierce competitors. I mean if they were in a World Cup match, one would be Argentina and the other England.
Or just about.
Their field of play is mostly who gets somewhere first, in particular to the car.
My eight-year-old son generally wins the race and declares it with a triumphant yell of “First!” That sets off a loud protest from his five-year-old sister and then an argument with her brother followed by a long sulk when she realizes that there’s no way to convince anybody that she won even though she came in second. [continue reading…]
My son found my perfect replica. It wasn’t quite what I expected.
My eight-year-old son stopped me in front of the toy store and said, “Hey, look. That looks like you!”
I smiled as I looked at a large figure of Superman.
He looked at me and followed my gaze and said, “No, not that one. That one!”
I followed his arm to where he was pointing and came to look at Kermit the Frog.
My face sank.
“And that’s Mummy,” my son said, pointing to Miss Piggy.
He laughed and my face brightened.