I love my kids. Can I start out with that? I love them. But some part of me wonders if they aren’t sent into my life as some fiendish instrument of torture devised to bedevil my days. As if I don’t have enough things bedeviling my days without their help.
If you know the roof-bunny-saga, you know sometimes my own great ideas are my undoing. The snow-thaw-sit-snow-thaw cycle has been hard on me, what with mister bunny reappearing every few weeks.
Last weekend there was an excited knock at my back door. It was jasper. He had found a great collection of roof-icicles, of which there are millions of impressive specimens. The ones he brought to show me weren’t cylindrical or conical shaped. They were long and flat, like clear swords. He brought a few to show me. As he was doing so he was biting off big, crunchy chunks and nosh-noshing them. I asked where he found these oddly shaped icicles. Nosh-nosh-nosh, “I knocked them off the roof.” Uh, oh.
Which roof? “The next-door-family’s roof.” Nosh, nosh, crunch, nosh.