My wife has been ill for several weeks. As I was driving my son (he's chronologically 12 but operates at about a 4-year-old level) to something yesterday he asked, “If mom dies, will we go to a foster home?”
“Of course not,” I replied. “I'll take care of you.”
He was quiet for about ten seconds and then said, “Do you have enough money to keep taking us to restaurants or will you have to learn to cook?”
Hmm, I guess Tomato soup and peanut butter sandwiches haven't been as impressive as I'd once thought.
I love that boy.
He's the same one who, when he was maybe seven-years-old was sitting quietly in his room for quite awhile. And when I walked by and asked what he was doing he looked up at me and said, "I'm just thinking about who I might marry."