Sunday afternoon: we’re in the drugstore.
Roo picks up a bottle of hair oil from the shelf and starts to walk away with it. He’s freakishly talented at unscrewing bottle tops, so I reach down and take it from him, offering him some hairbands as an alternative.
Instead of taking them, he falls immediately and with great drama to the shlocky drug store carpet, face down, screaming, kicking his legs, and pounding his fists on the floor.
We did the only thing you would expect of empathetic, patient parents:
We died laughing.