My four-year-old learned that ants carry food home, so now apparently every crumb on our patio belongs to a tiny father just trying his best
I made one harmless dad comment last week: “Leave that crumb, mate. An ant is taking dinner home.”
Since then, my son has become the union representative for patio ants.
Yesterday I swept after breakfast and he stood in front of the dustpan with both arms out. “Dad, they have children.” I tried explaining that one cereal piece could feed roughly nine thousand ants and he said, very calmly, “Then nine thousand dads need it.”
This morning I found him breaking a cracker into microscopic bits and laying them in a neat line toward the back door. When I asked why, he whispered, “So they know where our kitchen is.”
I may of accidentally opened a restaurant with six-legged customers and no closing time. What completely innocent thing did you tell your kid that became a full household policy?