It's basketball season, and Timothy is in training. He even comes up with his own training schedule, and yesterday he spends a good 30 minutes sprinting up and down our driveway, doing pushups, and huffing and puffing up and down stairs.
"Done," he tells me, looking very sweaty but triumphant. "I think I can already feel a pack."
A pack ... as in a six-pack abs. This was Day One of training, and he already feels a pack coming on. But he wants to show me, so he lifts his shirt and stands up tall.
The only pack I see in my skinny boy? Twelve ribs, which I can see very distinctly.
However ... if I squint my eyes ... and let the light fall a certain way ... perhaps ... just maybe I see something?
"Whoa," I tell him. "You need extra dinner tonight."