To my son Tommy,
Today you were doing crafts. Surprisingly it was under your own volition. You decided to make Mommy a get well letter and me a letter for the fun of it. Right now you are sitting at your little table using some scissors and markers making letters for a bunch of your classmates. I am tickled by it except for the table part.
You see, you were looking for a space to do some crafts. The coffee table is full as was pretty much every horizontal plane in our house. Your mom asked me to clear off your little table. I looked down and was pretty sure that you could take care of that yourself, but instead of arguing I obliged your mother. As I was picking up the tremendously heavy tissue box and moving it to another already too full horizontal surface, you looked at me and said, "And daddy...there are crumbs on this table. Will you take care of that?" in the tone of a princess diva sort.
Crumbs? Really? Oh my let me get right on that little master. I know my eyes were turning violent red when I bit my lip and in a low growl that was a unsatisfying substitute for the yelling I wanted to do, I replied, "Deal with it". Even the subdued version of my anger startled you a bit, and you decided to just sit down and not argue the point. But you were focused on your volatile father, so you forgot to make sure your chair was under your hind side before you sat. When your butt hit the floor, it was just enough karma to scratch my need for punishment and just enough comic relief to pull me back from the edge of losing my mind. Some cosmic force pulled the classic stunt gag of pulling the chair. And people say there aren't angels looking out for us.
Sincerely with love from your dad,