Toward the end of our pasta dinner this evening, the Little Man looked at the kitchen table before and pointed to something.
“What’s this, Daddy?” he said.
I looked at it. “Looks like a stain in the wood.”
“No, because feel it.”
I felt it. “Maybe it’s a stain from food. Probably maple syrup from one of your waffles, don’t you think?”
“No!” the Little Man said, “It can’t be from one of my waffles, Daddy. I never eat my waffles at the kitchen table.”
I thought about how he sat in the rocker in our bedroom in the mornings, eating waffles while he watched Disney Junior and could offer no response because his statement was unanswerable. He was absolutely right.