It was just the two of us in the van off to run an errand. It came out of nowhere.
"I hate being three!" Logan said in a tone I rarely hear from him. He was clearly not happy.
"What? Why?" I said, confused as to what sparked his contempt or the need to share it.
"I can't play monkey in the middle. When I'm the monkey, I'm too short to reach the ball," he began to explain. "When I'm not the monkey, I'm too short to throw it over the monkey. I always lose because I'm three."
"Umm, honey. If you play monkey in the middle with other people that are three, you won't be too short."
He sat and pondered that one in silence.