The Blame Game

My son John is 7 years old. Like many 7-year-olds, he is a smart kid who is reading above level, and hence believes he knows everything. To wit: I recently asked him to pick up clothes he left on the floor of the living room.

"Dad," he said, "why do you always have to blame ME for everything I do?"

Um, because you did it, I told him.

At the end of a fun family weekend, I told the kids I enjoyed playing cards, basketball, eating out, and Shamrock shakes.

Not to mention watching Harry Potter.

But I told them my favorite part of the weekend was when the kids played together nicely for two hours. Apparently miracles do happen in the Muggle world. 

John groans and says, "Really Dad? Why do you always have to focus on how we're improving? Why can't you just enjoy the good times?" 

Oh I do, John. I do.