My four year old son muses on life and other great inventions. I try to keep a record so we won't forget. If Mr T ever runs out of ideas, I've made a Mr A who can take over when he learns to talk.
4/13/10
Superhero
2am: tiny feet tap across the floor and jump into bed. A voice that can't breathe through a snotty nose: "I am sick". Cough. "Very sick". Short breaths, then a whimper in the dark: "I wish I was a Superhero".
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