It was bedtime, so Henry was mad at me. Also, he had filled the bathroom sink with water, and I caught him before he completely finished splashing it around. I suppose he felt his anger was justifiable. He responded in classic three year old manner by hitting me repeatedly, saying, "I'm not going to stop until you're dead!" (We have a very loving relationship.)
"Henry, what would happen if your mom died?" I asked him. (I'm sure he and his therapist will have a nice chat about this conversation someday.)
He just shrugged, utterly unconcerned. "I'll just get a new one." Then he paused. "Probably a stripey one," he added.
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