When he was around two – two and a half – numbers were a bit of an obsession for the boy-child. One evening the Big T was setting the table for the three of us.
“One for you” he said, putting a fork down at the boy-child’s place. “One for me …” — another fork.
With the third bit of cutlery hovering, he said to the kid, “One, two, and Mummy makes …?”
“Dinner” came the confident reply.
This post was written as part of my “countdown” to the boy-child’s sixteenth birthday.