The other night, we had a special dessert: an Indian recipe where dates are marinated for hours in cream, which makes a sticky and quite delicious treat. There were 22 dates, the remainder of a large container that I was trying to get out of the cupboard.
Tanner (2nd in command, 6 years old as of the end of October, excellent at math, and a great eater) had not yet finished his minestrone soup. Ben (heir apparent, also excellent at math, 7-1/2 years old) had. I decided to share the dates with Ben until Tanner was done.
So, after two dates each, passing the dish back and forth across the table, I told Tanner, "That's TWO dates", and he countered by saying, "That's FOUR." He is watching this bowl like a HAWK as it passes across the table.
"You're going to get as much as everyone else, don't worry", I say, apparently unconvincingly. Leave it to me to just rip the food out of his mouth. We pass the bowl again. "That's THREE", I say. "That's SIX! ", he explodes. Ben and I start laughing.
After six dates each, I tell him, "That's SIX." "That's TWELVE! He shouts, with the conviction of a child who can add. "That's ENOUGH! No more! The rest are MINE!"
Ben and I are in paroxysms of laughter. We can barely contain ourselves, and this is simply serving to infuriate Tanner.
"Honey, I'm counting by THREEs, not TWOs", I try to explain to him in perfecly logical teacher speak.
"I'M COUNTING BY TWELVES!" He proclaims, smacking one hand on the other for emphasis.
Ben and I are now rolling on the floor. Tears are coming from my eyes, and I'm about to pee my pants. Oh I do love these two.