The thing about kids

is that they are tiny little mysteries.  You can try to understand them and you can give yourself a headache trying.  They’re a constant storm of conundrums.

Take my son, for instance.  He’s incredibly smart, the smartest kid in his class.  He’s in the first grade and reading at a third grade level.  He understands basic, even some not-so-basic concepts, and if he sits still long enough he can quickly pick up on what is being taught to him.

But he can’t tie his own shoes or wipe his own butt without making a disgusting mess of things.


TMI? You’re telling me.


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