Our 6-year old Dwarf now knows how to ski, ride a bike and drive any normal adult up the walls with his questions (I dare anyone to get more creative than he is when it comes to exhausting a given topic).
He also knows how to read, which means any errand takes twice as much time as before as we need to stop to let him detail any price tag that crosses his sight.
On a regular basis, we also need to tell him to turn the light off in his room in the evening.
Recently, the Man told me he had let him read for a while because the Dwarf could not sleep.
About one hour later, and although the light was off, he started calling us, “I am scaaaaared”.
Driven by a strong maternal instinct (and the concern he would wake up Dwarf 2), I quickly went to his room.
“I cannot sleep. The book I read was reaaaally scary!”
We are renting a furnished house and to our delight the kid’s room contains enough children’s literature to open a store.
The Dwarves never mentioned Thing One and Thing Two were giving them nightmares, so I made sure Dwarf 1 had found the book in his room, which he confirmed.
Mom: “I am sure it is not so scary, and children’s books always have a happy ending. Try to sleep, now.”
Dwarf 1: “No, this book really IS too scary!”.
Mom: “What are you scared of, exactly?”
Dwarf 1: “EVERYTHING!”
Mom, not in the mood for a long philosophical discussion at 9.30 pm: “Come on, not everything is scary in a book! Are you sure you are not making it up because you don’t want to sleep? What is that book?”
Dwarf 1, about to cry, takes the book from under his pillow.
Mom makes a mental note to ask The Man to check the type of literature the Dwarf has picked before saying it is OK.