I have a six-year old son. Sometimes it’s like being in a Calvin and Hobbes cartoon.
While we were making dinner, Nate noticed the red steel case for my sawzall sitting by the top of the basement steps and asked what was in it.
“An electric saw,” I told him over my shoulder as I peeled a sweet potato.
“Where do we keep the flamethrower?”
“What? We don’t have a flamethrower.”
“Oh. ‘cuz that would be cool…”
I think we need to thumb through the books he takes out from the library a little more closely.