There is a cabinet in our downstairs bathroom where Olof keeps a small toolbox (and yes, it is *his* toolbox; we’re all about traditional gender roles here, you know). Last night as we were getting ready for bed, Tage was jabbering to me something about “tools, tools, blahblahblah.” I admit, I wasn’t really listening, something that must have been obvious to him because suddenly he stopped talking, dramatically flung open the tool-cabinet door, and gestured grandly at the contents, commanding, “Mom! Behold!”

I beheld and it was good.