You've become interested in numbers all of a sudden. It was inevitable. Your nerd genes are quite strong and it was only a matter of time before something science-y or math-y made its awkwardly charming debut. You like to quiz Natalie on addition problems while we eat breakfast, and she's more than happy to oblige. It didn't take long before you wanted Natalie to quiz you. After the second one you got wrong, you wanted Natalie explain why you were getting them wrong ("But Nallie, why doesn't 3 plus 4 equal 34?" -- I gotta admit, that's a really good question), and praise the heavens, she again was more than happy to oblige.
So now you like to ask us math problems and want us to hold up our fingers while you count. This is great and all but you get really annoyed and frustrated when it turns out that multiple math problems have the same answer. I know, right? Rude. You'll ask me what 2 plus 3 is so I'll hold up 2 fingers on one hand and 3 fingers on the other hand. You'll count 5 fingers and all is right with the world ... until you ask me what 4 plus 1 is. When you also count 5 fingers, you glare at me as if I just played a mean trick on you. I tried to explain to you that 2 plus 3 equals 5 just like 4 plus 1 equals 5 and you just look at me unconvincingly and say "You're so silly, Mommy. Can I have a cookie?
I was 99% sure I knew the answer to this question but I had to ask your preschool teacher anyway. "Does every boy in here make everything - literally everything - a gun?" Without missing a beat from breaking apart graham crackers for the day's craft, she smiled and said "Yes. Guns and lightsabers. Everything under the sun gets turned into a gun or a lightsaber." Then she looked down at her plate full of graham cracker rectangles and said "In fact, the boys will probably make guns out of these. It must be in their DNA." Which was reassuring to hear because you, my dear, sweet, sensitive, affectionate, cautious Momma's boy, insists on making everything a weapon.
A stack of Duplos? Makes a great bomb! A broom stick? The perfect gun! A pillow? A grenade, duh. A pencil? A lightsaber, of course. Your stuffed bear? A stuffed bear gun, clearly. To the casual observer, you act as if we force you to watch shoot-em-up shows and have brainwashed you to think our house is going to be attacked by a band of marauding villains so you must be adequately trained in the art of weaponry. I promise we don't. Unless Phineas and Ferb send out subliminal messages about how to turn everyday items into weapons ... but in that case, your sister would be equally as obsessed. Which she isn't. Because she squeals like a stuck pig every time you throw a pillow grenade at her or whack her with your pencil lightsaber. So it must just be your DNA.
Boy DNA is so weird.
Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy
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- Michigan Win Rescues Bernie Sanders Campaign Ahead of Key Primaries
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- Rough Primary Night Leaves Rubio Further Weakened Before Florida
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