Famous Last Words

ALL. AFTERNOON.  the two littles have been outside playing with sticks.  Not only that.  They have been sharpening sticks--presumably on the pavement, but I didn't ask questions.  They've been coming in and out from their outdoor laboratory to show me their sharpest sticks.  Upon one visitation, a boy conceived the idea of turning one of the sharp sticks into a primitive pencil.  He asked if he might be able to use some lead from one of our mechanical pencils.  I obliged.

For the next 20 minutes, while I was cleaning up in the kitchen and prepping for dinner, the two littles circled me like sharks asking vague questions like:  "What do you think the sharpest little thing we have is?" and "What kind of tool would make a good hole?" and "Where does Dad keep his drill?"  You see where this is going. . .  Finally, I let them know that I figured out their plan and that it would not work--it was impossible to make a hole small enough for the lead to fit in.  It wasn't possible.  It would have to be an imaginary pencil.  And that's that.  Plus, I was not going to let them play with sharp things.  I'm a good mother.

They left the kitchen dejected and disappointed that God had given them such a protective and loving matriarch.

Minutes later, one of the boys burst through the door exclaiming:  "We have a new plan that is genius and all we need is a rubber band."  Sensing they needed to achieve something and pre-consoling myself on the loss of one of their eye balls, I once again obliged.  And off they went.

Returning with a gift.  For me.