This morning, Zipporah’s bedroom light is on when I go in to get her up. “Why is your light on?” I ask. She looks up at it and says, “Because it is.”
She’s not yet three.
I am doomed.
This morning, Zipporah’s bedroom light is on when I go in to get her up. “Why is your light on?” I ask. She looks up at it and says, “Because it is.”
She’s not yet three.
I am doomed.