being my kid opens the door to great fun.
But take a closer look and…
being my kid can also bring a bit of torture.
Case in point:
My eight year old son is on the cusp of mastering the analog clock. As he is learning to “tell time,” he has tried to convince me that analog clocks are out of date and that only digital clocks will exist in the future. Cue the rolling of my eyes.
To begin our lessons, I pulled the kitchen clock off the wall and we practiced the art of o’clocks and half-pasts. My five year-old was in charge of moving about the clock hands. My eight year-old was in charge of telling the correct time. I was in charge of giving high-fives all around.
Fast forward to another day:
I packed the boys in the car and headed to the local clock shop. I’d like to say that my boys were shocked by this turn of events, but they’re old enough to know their Momma well. Cue the rolling of their eyes.
The Salem Clock Shop
has all sorts of treasures.
My oldest son informed us of the time.