The single greatest thing about being three-ish years old is the ability to explore using pure mathematical rigor, long before it is socialized away and supplanted by rote memorization of esoterica. No preconceived notions, no grade anxiety. Just the innate desire to satisfy wonder.
Such is the case with the boy, who spends much of his waking life testing his boundaries and trying to unearth the answers to so many of life's vexing questions, such as:
- Will my face fit in the hole of my potty seat?
- Are books washable?
- If I pull hard enough on the cat's tail, will its head vanish down its neck?
- How deep is my nose?
- How many parts of my new toolkit can I stuff into my socks?
- What do store windows taste like?
- How many times can I pop Daddy in the nads before he hangs me by my ankles and zerbits my belly?
Anyone who no longer wonders about anything is, as I think Einstein put it, "as good as dead, a snuffed-out candle." Well, Robert's candle isn't the only thing burning. Long story short, our little Einstein has learned that you shouldn't store dish towels in the broiler.
