My son is 3 and a half. I'll call him Wheels because he's inherited his parents penchant for obsessive thinking, and it's been directed anything for wheels for more than a year now. The other day when we were walking home, he saw a cement mixer and announced, "When I get big I'm going to drive a cement mixer. And I will live away from you. But I'll still come back."
"Well, that's good," I said.
"Yeah, I'll still come back for cuddles."
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