ashes to dust, dust to bushes…

something like that, anyway.

There was a dead bird in our front yard today. We decided the best thing would be to put it into the woods across the street from our house, and Ignatz volunteered to take care of it. I got him the shovel and stood ready to assist if necessary. I thought he would carry it sedately over the road and deposit it gently in the ivy, respect for the dead and all that, but no. He gave the shovel a mighty heave, and FWING! the bird carcass made a high and completely undignified arc across the road, and FWUMP! disappeared into the foliage.

Ignatz bowed his head and put his hand on his heart for a moment, and that was the end of it.

You know, my mom always said that babies are cute and all, but the real fun comes when they hit 12 or so. I begin to see what she meant.

Song du jour of the day: I Can’t Wait, by Stevie Nicks.

2 responses to “ashes to dust, dust to bushes…

  • amy

    Does it get easier? Because right now I’m taking it on faith that boys are harder when young but easier when they get older, while girls are the opposite. I need to believe this is true. (It’s what I’ve been told.)

    Also, your running-away kid–the one who snuck through Heathrow security–how long did that last?

    I need some “Been there, done that, it’ll get easier” from another mom with boys…

    By the way, excellent description. I could see that bird arcing. Boys ARE fun. Just…exhausting right now…

  • FirstNations

    wow. too much sloppy sentimentality. i need a metformin now. dang.
    *cracking up*

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