Robert
Grounding my son felt more like I was punishing myself, rather than punishing Trevor for putting a fish head in Alba’s heating vent. The only thing worse than having an evil mastermind for a child was having a bored evil mastermind. Since he couldn’t watch TV or entertain himself with his tablet, he had resorted to following me around and asking every question he could possibly think of.
“Do you think dinosaurs had feathers?” he asked.
“Some scientists think so.” I hedged.
“Do palaeontologists make a lot of money?”
“I don’t know, I’ve never met one.”
“Could Dinosaurs swim?”
“Well alligators swim, and they are kind of like a modern dinosaur, right?”
“Are there dinosaur fossils in Antarctica?”
“Hey! You know what? I forgot my laptop in the office. Why don’t you go ask Alb
