It's been a weird week. I sat down tonight with my son, who is often in trouble, the source of trouble, or party to someone else's trouble, and asked him how he handles stress. I just wondered what he would say.
"Go to Starbucks and have coffee," he said.
"What else?" I asked.
"Go have coffee with people."
"No, seriously."
"Coffee."
My son isn't seven yet. He seems to have a good handle on things for a kid who is in constant hot water. But instead of the coffee cure, I opted for a small glass of wine.
"I'd like some wine, cheese, and olives, please," he said, "and then we can sit on the deck together."
"You can't have wine. And I am not up to fixing a cheese plate."
"It's okay," he said. Tiny proceeded to pull out olives, mustard, and crackers, and arrange a rather pleasing looking tapas. "Would you like the recipe?" he asked as he wrote it for me.
I'm not sure when my first grader turned 40, but there he was admiring his plate, which I decided would be his dinner with the addition of some leftover salad. I made egg sandwiches for my daughter and I, and invited Tiny to join us in the dining room.
"You go on ahead. I'm good," he said, motioning us away with the back of a hand. Where does he get this stuff?
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