My kooky friend Karls - a refreshingly hands-off, let-him-discover-his-limits kind of mother - is over at my flat with her 5 year old son, who has disappeared to the bathroom. Eventually I realise that constant hissing noise is the sound of the taps running.
I pop my head into the bathroom. He's standing at the sink, both taps covered in soap - too slippery to turn off.
Whatcha doing? I say.
Washing the taps for you, he says.
The previous time he came to visit, he played with a soft Barpazoo toy of mine, which has traveled with me since I bought it during my first trip to Paris eight years ago. In his excitement and 5 year-old-boyishness, he tears it open. I am upset and a little annoyed, but then I realise that it's a toy for chrissake - it's meant to be played with.
This is the boy who, while riding his bike recently, yelled out "Look Mum, no hands!", let go of the handlebars and promptly fell flat on his adorable little face. This little scamp doesn't know the meaning of the word "fear".
Later on, we are lying on the grass in the park while he tears around the playground. She tells me that on their way over, he told her that he's in love with me. My heart melts.
The things kids can teach us, eh? Don't get too attached to objects. Take risks. Give your love freely and whole-heartedly. And when busted, make up a story so cute that the other person can't possibly be mad.