A few years back I was working frantically to finish a grant proposal. My husband was out-of-town, my daughter was at dance class, and I really needed to write. I parked my almost 8-year-old son in my office with a GameBoy© and tried to work. Every 5 minutes, I would hear a chorus of “Mommy! Mommy!”
About the time I began plotting where to hide his body, he cried for me again and handed me this sheet of paper, now carefully laminated and preserved:
Kids seem to know when you feel like eating your young. Then they do something cute so you won’t. He has survived to the age of 17 now. In another year he will leave my home.
10. I love you, too, Tim.
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