Gotta Hand It To Ya

"Michael, please take your things into the house," I said as we climbed out of the car, my arms already laden with water bottles, shoes, and a pile of school art, papers occasionally fluttering to the ground.

"I onwy have two hands," he said, as he grappled with three items. Last month he had pointed out, "You onwy have two hands, too. Because in ouw famiwy, we onwy have two hands."

Now he was waxing philosophical. "What if we had six hands?" He likes to speculate, and the more ridiculous, the better.

"What if we had six hands?" I asked.

Nate pitched in. "If we had six hands, we could do lots of things," he said.

"Like what?" I pressed.

"Like we wouldn't have to use our mouths to carry things."