“Tommy, it’s time to set the table!” Mom worked diligently over the stove cooking a familiar meal.
Tommy was four years old and had enough energy to blown down a house. Even when he was learning to walk his mother had commented that he went straight from crawling to running. He was always in motion, and channeling that energy was always a challenge. This meant that the rest of the family was usually involved in a Tommy activity like coloring, riding scooters, or hide and seek. Tommy was certainly a handful.
He was sort of an odd boy, and definitely not a kid you’d see in a Pampers commercial looking perfect and cute. That’s not to say he was a bad kid by any means, he was “unique.” He wore big glasses with a prescription that rivaled Grandma and Grandpa. The lenses made his eyes almost twice their normal size, which looked very out of proportion for his head. His hair was straight and blond, but he had a defiant cowlick that liked to stick up in the front. His hands were always dirty, and if Mom didn’t pay attention, sometimes he had the dreaded snot and dirt face. When you’re four you don’t bother with tissues, and you don’t wash your hands unless someone forces you. Smeared boogers on the face are gross enough, but when you mix in dirt it really brings out the texture, sort of like a work of art. Tommy was a budding booger artist.
