|Nefarious preschooler is in disguise.|
Him: Howzit sweetie?
Me: Good. We met some friends at the park and found a feather. Made it into a quill. Mainly used it for stabbing stuff. Please pick up salad and extra virgin olive oil on your way home.
Him: Sounds like fun. Will get olive oil and salad stuff.
That’s how summer days are turning out: the pleasant mundane lethargy of child rearing classics punctuated by the completely unexpected. When I woke up today I did not anticipate having to invent a taxonomy code for what items on the deck are and are not okay to impale with a quill dipped in sidewalk paint whilst pretending to be a nefarious 17th century author.
|The quill is mightier than the pen and the sword because it’s like a pen-sword spork.|