This evening, as Miles was busy staying up a bit too late and having a little too much fun, he asked for a piece of cheese. I handed him a slice, and he merrily walked off, eating it.
A few minutes later, he comes over to me and says, “Daddy, daddy…cheese,” while pointing across the room.
“On the ground?” I asked.
“Well, pick it up.”
“No,” he said. “Daddy get it.”
He led me over to the coffee table, then dropped to the ground and started pointing underneath it.
I dropped to my belly and peered under the table with him, scanning the rug for the cheese he was talking about.
“Miles, I don’t see any cheese. Where is it?”
Again, he pointed. “Ight dere.”
I looked all over, but didn’t see anything.
“I don’t see it. Are you crazy?”
“No,” Miles said. He kept pointing, but also started tapping his pointer finger against the ground, clearly growing impatient.
I reached out and ran my hand along the floor, hoping I might at least be able to feel the cheese he was talking about. When even that proved fruitless, I looked over to him. “Look, why don’t you just get it? I can’t find it.”
Miles clambered over to the other side of the table and reached underneath as I stood back up. A moment later he stood, holding up his bounty.
“Cheese!” he cried.
I reached out my hand, and in it Miles placed a borderline microscopic fragment of the cheese slice he had ben eating. I’m not sure what this says about my visual acuity, but I do know one thing — my kid keeps a clean house.