I couldn’t say no. He, ingeniously, tried to turn the bottle over and pour baby powder into his shovel. The questioning look when it didn’t come out sealed the deal for him. I complied when he handed it to me to open and I wasn’t even worried when the fine white dust spread beyond the confines of the box top I tried to contain it in.
As we vacuumed later, I reached out to wipe the smudges off his cheeks.
“Casey” he cries. Mr. Independent.