Little Miss Thing, age 7: “Who is that guy?”
Me: “What guy?”
LMT: “The guy in this picture with Grandma.”
Me: “That’s me, honey.”
LMT: “I don’t think so.”
Me: “It’s me, just a really long time ago.”
LMT: “Like, thirty five hundred years ago?”
Me: …
Me: “Pretty much.”
Me: “Hey… Whats the deal with the writing all down the inside of your leg? That looks like a whole paragraph.”
Danger Monkey, age 10: “It’s the rules for the new role playing game I’m creating.”
Me: “OK, that sounds cool, but why write on your leg?”
DM: “I ran out of room on my arms.” (pulls up sleeves)
Me: “Good god, son. That’s a lot of ink. Why are you writing all over your skin?”
DM: (puzzled look)
DM: “It’s the only paper that’s always with me.”
(long pause)
Me: “Can’t argue with that. Carry on.”
(front door opens)
Little Miss Thing, age 7: “Dad, I found something walking home from the bus today.”
Me: “Yes, what’s that dear?”
LMT: “I found this.” (shoves leaf-wrapped and very dead mouse within inches of my face)
Me: “Oh my…”
LMT: “It was on the front porch. Last week we found a dead bird.”
Me: “Yeah, things die. We only live for a while, and animals live even shorter lives.”
LMT: (heavy sigh)
LMT: “We buried the bird in the yard, so I’m going to go bury the mouse, too.”
Me: “OK. If that’s what you want.”
LMT: “I think that’s what she would want.”
LMT: (walks out somberly)
Me: (to myself) “It doesn’t get any easier, kiddo.”
Very Vocal Viking 