The other day my poor, put-upon, three-year-old son was once again feeling disenfranchised. The poor thing is constantly suffering from unfair limitations, such as not being allowed to climb into the refrigerator or hit his brother with a large stick.
On this particular occasion, he was lamenting not being able to go outside. Mind you it was 7:30 PM and pitch-black outside, but still, it was a tragedy of Biblical proportion.
Once the weeping and howling had ceased, I found him standing quietly in the hallway holding a tiny piece of toilet paper.
Here is the conversation that followed, VERBATIM:
Mommy, do you ask why I am holding this paper?
(Exasperated.) Why are you holding that toilet paper?
To dry my tears.
Oh (suppressing laughter).
Would you like to dry my tears, Mommy?
Sure.
And then I literally dried the (nonexistent) tears. The end.
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