Little Mist Thing, age 3, flapping her arms vigorously: “Look, Daddy. I’m flapping my wings so you know I’m a bird.”
Me: “That’s nice! But not only birds flap wings. Do you know of other things that flap wings?”
Ella: “Pteradons.”
Me: (slow blink) “Use your powers for good, kiddo.”
I’m at Wal-mart on Xmas Eve.
This type of pain and punishment can only be based on sins in a past life, and apparently I was Mussolini.
We have a rule in our house. No cardboard boxes are to be recycled until they are covered in crayon, marker, paint and scotch tape, and at least 6 windows/port holes/secret doors are cut into the sides, and the entire structure has been sat on, jumped on, rolled in, rolled over, rolled up and otherwise mashed into a giant, limp wad. Well, to be fair, this is not a rule as much as a precedent that is followed with great rigor and passion. Also, I let the kids play with them, too.
