“I wish they could come in, Mommy. Can you please open it? Just this once?”
He used his most persuasive tones, dulcet and utterly innocent. For the hundredth time she told him why the window must stay locked, pointed out what had happened last time.
“But I was so young then, Mommy. A child. I’m all grown up now.”
She noticed for the first time that his face had lost much of the baby fat. Perhaps he had a point. But no, despite his protestations he was still a child. She shook her head and left before the tantrums began.