I'm a strong boy

I bent slightly at my back, and with my knees, to set the grocery bag that I was gripping with both hands on the floor next to my register. The golden haired, blue-eyed boy looked up at me and smiled as the bag came to rest on the linoleum. I went back to bagging the remaining items and talking with the mom as she waited for me to finish while her daughter was milling about next to her. I placed another bag on the floor when I noticed the little boy playing with the first bag, running his small hands over it's paper handles.

"That's a heavy bag," I noted with a smile, examining it's contents: a gallon of milk, a quart of chocolate milk and some other light, space filling items.

"I can lift it," he said as proceeded to slip his arm, up to the bicep, through the handles. With a flex of his back and hips he unrested the bag, lifting if off the floor with his body shaking under the strain.

"Wow, how'd you do that?" I exclaimed, both impressed and a little concerned for his safety.

"I'm a strong boy!" the 4-year old replied.

"Yeah, you are."

"I'm a strong boy," he repeated as he again slipped his arm through the handles, up to the shoulder, and lifted the bag, this time with greater ease. He set the bag down, his smile showing the pride he had in his accomplishment.

Not one to be outdone by little brother, his sister came around the corner and assessed the situation.

"I'm a strong girl."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. I can lift... my mom and my dad!"

"With what, a fork-lift?"

"No, with my hand," as she displayed the hand, raising it above her head.

"Wow, you are strong."

I turned to look at the mom who had been silently watching with a smile.

"What are you feeding them?!," I joked, looking at the assortment groceries on the counter that still needed bagging.

She looked at the groceries herself and broke out in laughter, exclaiming "Really!" and just shaking her head in amusment at her children.

The Threads