Gabriel: Dadda, can you get me a paper towel?
Me: Didn’t you just tear one?
Gabriel: Yes, but it kept tearing wrong. I want you to tear me a perfect one.
Me: Why does it have to be perfect?
Gabriel: Because I like it perfect.
Gabriel: Dadda, can you get me a paper towel?
Me: Didn’t you just tear one?
Gabriel: Yes, but it kept tearing wrong. I want you to tear me a perfect one.
Me: Why does it have to be perfect?
Gabriel: Because I like it perfect.
He cries, and there’s very little you can do to help. He cries, and it makes you feel useless. You try to console him; you smile at him, you make silly faces, you do whatever comes to mind. If it helps, it’s only for a brief moment, after which he continues to cry. He turns his head to the floor. He pushes his face against his mattress, trying to dull the pain. It doesn’t help...
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