Why I love my children

Oh, my dear people, as an Irish priest who used to visit our hometown church would often say – I don’t have any time to draw anything today; so I will try to sketch with words.

I

      “Why did the Red Queen want to cut off the heads of the cards?” (ie in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.)

      “Mm… she was a grumpy queen.”

      “I would stop her from doing that.  I would kill her!  No, wait wait wait wait . . .” (seeing my mouth start to open to protest, as I generally do when in his zeal for justice Thomas proposes dealing death to the evildoers.*)

      “I would . . .”  thinking for a minute.  “What could I do?”

      “Well – you could say, ‘Stop doing that.’”

      “Oh, use a word?  Now that’s a fine idea!”

II

This summer when we stayed at my sister’s house, we learned the Splonskowski family’s grace before meals, which is longer than ours.  Now that we are back home, Anthony insists on the “long form” at least once per meal – sometimes twice, if there is a large enough space between courses – and becomes quite upset if we don’t say the whole thing.

III

My little genius super baby can say five words: “uh-oh,” “bye-bye,” “car,” “Da,” (Dad) and “cracker” (though it sounds like “gockuh,” and signifies Cheerios also.)

*As the mother of three small boys, I reserve the right to observe a sort of pacifism. We can work out soldiery and just war and all that later.

One thought on “Why I love my children

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