Posted by: Jamie Stamm | February 13, 2010

Yeah, he’s 4

So, 4-year-olds (or at least ours) have no sense of sympathy. Or tact. Case in point:

While coming in from a late-night romp in the snow tonight, which is a rare occurrence for us here in central North Carolina, Anthony somehow managed to get his head shut in the screen door. As I raced up the snow-covered steps to free him, Aidan, whom Jerry had already taken off leash, saw his own path to freedom and scampered out the door and through the front yard.

I can imagine what ensued was an amusing sight, with Jer and I slipping and sliding as we chased our pup through the neighbors’ yards. But we finally corralled the little sucker and returned him to a teary-eyed Cera.

After covering her puppy with kisses, Cera joined Anthony and me in the kitchen.

“I was so scared, Mommy,” she said, her voice cracking. “Because sometimes dogs run away, and they don’t come back.”

With an “I have something important to contribute to this conversation” grin on his face, Anthony added, “And sometimes they get hit by trucks!”

Cera promptly burst into uncontrollable sobs. Anthony said, “I’m serious. Sometimes dogs do get hit by trucks.” And I tried my hardest not to laugh at my son’s lack of sensitivity as I comforted my distraught daughter.



  1. ahh, the joy of little brothers! I still want to sell mine!

  2. Sometimes I want to sell my little brother, too!!! šŸ™‚

  3. You have the greatest children. Have been laughing for the last five minutes uncontrollably. Am now crying myself. Oh, you’re gonna have your hands full with those two torturing one another for many years.

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