My son has always been a sensitive little thing.
When he was 5, he helped me paint his room before we moved into our first house in California.
We stood side by side on his desk while we readied the window up high. I reached into the corner with my brush and cleared out a spiderweb.
“Oh, Mama!” He pointed to a spider on the wall. “He just watched you destroy his home!”
So I picked up the newspaper, rolled it and smashed the homeless spider.
“There. Now he’s not sad anymore.”
Are you all glad I’m not your mother?