This morning at breakfast, Finny and I were engaged in a fierce debate about his age. As hard as I persisted with all my logic and my presentation of cold, hard facts, his rhetoric was just too advanced and I was ultimately defeated as he made a case I simply could not dispute.
The debate went something like this:
“How old are you, Finny?”
“I’m five.”
“No, you’re not! How old are you?”
“I’m five, Mommy.”
“Finny, are you two?”
“No, I’m five.”
“Okay, you’re five. How old is Mommy?”
“You’re five.”
“No, I’m not. Do you know how old I am?”
“You’re two.”
“No, I’m thirty-one.”
“No, you’re not thirty-one!” He yelled with deep frustration in his voice. “You’re a kangaroo!”
And there you have it.
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