Peanut Butter Sandwich

Aidan brings a plate and two slices of bread to my bedroom and tells me he can't find the peanut butter, and he wants to make a peanut butter sandwich. I tell him the last jar in the pantry was all used up, so he'll have to go to the basement to get another one.

He says, "Okay," and leaves.

A few minutes later, he comes, crying, back up the stairs.

"Mom, I can't get the peanut butter!" he wails.

"Why not?" I ask.

"Because I can't hold this," showing me the plate in one hand, "and this," showing me the two slices of bread in his other hand, "and carry the peanut butter, too!"