My dad has a job. Most days, the people at his job tell him that he has to come press the keys on their computer and talk on their phone. So he goes...very early in the morning (before I get up!) and doesn't get home until all the kids in the neighborhood have to go inside to eat their dinner and get in bed. So yesterday, I said, "Dada, sfjdkj dfdgv defakjdkdn dsfkjhdfkjad." (My English isn't so good yet.) Which translates to, "You shouldn't be the only kid on the block who doesn't get time for fun." So I took him to the museum to let him run around a little bit and play with the toys.
While Dada explained that I can't keep all the race cars for myself, I explained that the other kids hanging out at the track insisted that I take them.
The room with the cars is my personal fave, but we had to drag Dada away from this exhibit.
Here we are rocking out in the music room.
Does this fancy medical coat qualify me to write my dad a doctor's note excusing him from his job once a week for mandatory playdates???
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