All day my 4 year old daughter has been coming into my room, asking if I’m hungry and then depositing these paper “chocolates†that she’s been making for me.
At least she knows they’re not really for eating, because she hands them to me and says, “These are some chocolates for you, daddy. I made them myself. You can go ahead and eat them if you want to, but don’t give them to James ’cause they’re just paper and he’d die.â€
I’m not sure if I should be touched that she’s genuinely concerned for her little brother’s welfare or worried that she doesn’t care if I eat these apparently fatal chocolates.