Here’s my latest Twitter-story, encapsulated here (upon request).
The kids are supposed to be reading for half an hour in bed. Five minutes to go before lights out, and Tiny Beowulf comes downstairs with a very serious look on his face.
“Mom,” he tells me, “I’ve done rocket science.”
“Wow,” I say, “that’s impressive.”
He nods solemnly. “I’m going to go show Dad.”
Dad is also pleased. Tiny Beowulf returns. “Do they have rocket science in high school?”
“Yes,” I tell him, “I think so.”
He nods again. “That’s good. I’m going to need that.” Then he looks at his chart again. “I need to check my math.”
Several minutes of Tiny Beowulf’s checking his math. He comes to the conclusion his math is correct.
Big grin. Arms up in the touchdown sign. “I did rocket science!”
I come upstairs a moment later, find this in the hallway:
I want to tell him it’s time to go to sleep, but it’s sort of hard to stop him when he’s like this. I guess another fifteen minutes of rocket science before lights out will be okay.
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