DH runs an office full of lovely, competent people. But by statistics, he should have one problem person. And he does. I'm cooking dinner, as he tells me of one more incident. I raise my voice in indignation, when Boo comes in to say, "Mommy, I don't like the way you're talking." I explain that we are not fighting, but oma is upset because somebody is being mean to daddy.
He sits down on the kitchen floor. His face is tight with all the restraint a little 6 year old can muster, and tears begin to fill his eyes.
"Is someone trying to put him in jail, or kill him?"
Oh, Lord, help me now.