We’d (the Girl and I) been encouraging the Boy to set up his own Gmail address for a while now. It would help with his typing, and we’d send him the joys of Lolcatz and other wonders of the Internet. After a few months of resistance, he finally gave in, choosing an e-mail address that only a five-year-old boy could love.
We thought that he was only humouring us by having the e-mail set up and would never want to use it. But then he brought this little handwritten note to my bedside the next morning, which brought a smile to my face: