The girls told me they’d seen a dead opossum on their walk.
“It was so sad, Mom. Just lying there.”
[sorrowful pause]
“So we named it Commander O’Possum. He was Irish, you see.”
“Mommy, can me have that book? You know, that one me like. Me want to read it. It’s called I’m Hungry.”
Remember that time Rilla thought the phrase “into the thick of it” was “into the thicklebit”? And I loved it so much I threatened to rename this blog after it? Well, we’ve decided to go one better. Voila…Into the Thicklebit, a webcomic cowritten by Scott and me, and illustrated by the impossibly brilliant Chris Gugliotti. We hope you’ll enjoy it. You may recognize some Bonny Glen moments here and there. (Hair color has been changed to protect the obstreperous.) 😉
I’ll add a button to the sidebar after SDCC madness is over. We’re aiming for new strips twice a week, when time permits. Tomorrow’s is one of my favorites. (And 100% true.)
Me: Here, why don’t you wear the sparkly dress today?
Rilla: Ooh, Twilight sparkle!
Okay, I am well aware that “six-year-old” is synonymous with “information sponge,” but this one surprised me nonetheless. We’re far from a Twilight-drenched household here. Jane has read the books (and peppered me with snarktastic commentary), but that’s it. So it was with some surprise that I asked Rilla how she knew about Twilight sparkle.
Rilla, in an “I should think it’s obvious” tone: My Little Pony, of course.
Ohhhh, that Twilight Sparkle. It all becomes so clear. And sparkly.
I know I already posted one of these photos last week, but as I was telling Tanita in the comments, I decided the whole series of photos really has to be viewed in sequence. I took these spying on him through the sliding glass door. He kept walking up and down along the row of flowers, deliberately letting them whack him in the face. This is fun how exactly?
The Great Crayon-Pencil War of 1953. This. This is why I’m in stitches all day long.
Huck: “Mommy! Me spilled something.”
Me, reaching for towel: “A lot or a little?”
Huck: “…me not telling you.”
Today Rilla decided to make herself an illustrated chore list. A most worthwhile endeavor—although, in the fashion of apples that do not fall far from their mother trees, her absorption with writing about her chores distracted her from actually doing them. This I learned later when I encountered a pile of pajamas in the middle of her bedroom floor.
She invited me to “help” her with the chore list, which meant sitting beside her and watching her draw. Painstakingly she depicted each one of her morning tasks: get dressed, make bed, put away pajamas (ahem), brush teeth, brush hair. When she got to the bottom of her list, she surveyed it, gave a satisfied nod, set it to one side, and reached for another piece of paper.
“That was the Everyday list,” she said. “Now for the Sometimes list.”
“What goes on the Sometimes list?” I wondered.
“Checking to see if the Tooth Fairy came,” she explained. And drew a little picture of a tooth, an arrow, a pillow.
We’re pulling out of the gas-station parking lot and Beanie notices a sign on the wall: NO LOITERING. VIOLATORS WILL BE PROSECUTED.
“Prosecuted?” she says. “Whoa.”
I launch into an explanation of loitering and the reasons a small business, especially one that sells alcohol, might not want people hanging out in the parking lot getting into mischief. Her brow is furrowed—she’s unsatisfied.
“But still. Prosecuted. It seems kind of harsh.”
So I expound upon the criminal justice system: misdemeanors vs. felonies, charges vs. convictions, yadda yadda yadda. A mini-course on the U.S. legal system packed into three minutes of driving time.
“Ohhhh, prosecuted,” Beanie says. “I was thinking executed.”