Time Is Relative When Youre Seven.

M. had been in Finland the past week. The Little Guy didn't seem to mind till a couple of nights before M.'s arrival. It was bedtime, when from under the duvet, he complained, "he's been away for two months now." I assured him that it had only been a week. A week being equivalent to seven days. And the following day M. would be back home. He poked his head from under the covers to tell me, "In three days I'm not going to remember him anymore." It broke my heart to see the Little Guy so sad. And it made me want to beat M. with his friggin mobile phone for always calling when the Little Guy was asleep. Hence a quick text to M. regarding the depressed state of his son. Shortly thereafter, my phone rang and it was M. I passed the phone to the Little Guy. From the Little Guy's spot under the duvet, I could hear, "Dad when I am eight can you....."