They are standing just below me.

"Elboron, you should not eat green strawberries. You will be sick," Faramir says, looking down at our five-year-old boy.

I usually scream and slap him lightly on his little hands, causing the strawberries to fall. My husband lectures to him patiently about consequences.

Elboron stuffs a handful of unripe berries into his mouth and grins at his father triumphantly.

"My way is better," I think as I quietly withdraw into the room from the spot at the window from where I have been watching my two men, my grin matching that of our son.