At home: Tired of waiting

Waiting........it takes years when your 8 years old. Sam was waiting for help to put up his lights in his bedroom. He held and I pinned up his lights. I nipped downstairs to grab some more tacks. I could hear him talking, counting my feet down the stairs. Talking to himself whilst I was gone. Perhaps talking to his alter ego about the unfairness of waiting. I remember being his age and not understanding time. Like time had something against me. Every second took ages. I wasn't very patient, and some would argue I haven't changed much. I like things to happen. Waiting means stopping. Stopping means wasting time. Wasting time means wasting part of the day.

I think grabbing my camera at the same time as the tacks irritated him too, although he was glad to see his lights up as he wanted them x