The boy used every argument in his arsenal to get out of taking a bath last night, so we ended up having a 20-minute discussion where he tried to convince me that he’s taller than me because he does such a good job eating his vegetables. Here’s the photographic proof that I am, in fact, still taller than my four-and-a-half-year-old son, even when he’s standing on a stool. I realize that my admittedly marginal height supremacy won’t last long with the boy, but at least I can say that I’m taller than my son. For now.

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