So far, Jen on the Edge has the right answer to yesterday's story problem...with extra credit! (Honestly, what an overachiever.)
Happy to report that all 11 feet of our spruce is still upright despite the bachelors' wrestling matches and games of tag.
Pet funerals. Morning Edition on NPR reported on this trend. Evidently, funeral homes are being asked to assist with pet funerals. One woman interviewed made the comment, "This (dog? cat? turtle?) was my child." First, a pet is NOT a child. Besides not being the same species, a child inherits parts of you, personality, eye color, preferences and talents. A child takes hours and days and years of nurturing. No animal commands or demands the same level of investment as a junior human. And while I agree that a beloved pet might merit a burial service in the backyard (or aside the family toilet, Gildy the Goldfish?), purchasing the services of a funeral home seem a) crazy b) audacious c) obnoxious and d) a cry for help. I get that Fido/Mittens/Mr. Doodles can add to the quality of a human life. But IMHO they shouldn't be considered comparable.
Prepare now for angry comments about evil people being less deserving of funeral services than many the honorable service dog or faithful iguana.
Yesterday Mr. G gave me a quiz while we drove to the grocery store.
Mr. G: What has Batarangs and wears a cape?
Mr. G: Yup. What has bombs and goes after bad guys?
Mr. G: Nope. Batman Beyond. What shoots webs and wears black?
Me: Black Spiderman
Feel free to be impressed by my vast knowledge of both Marvel and DC Comic Superheroes and Villains.
Mr. G: Yup. Who wears diamonds and likes cold?
Me: Dr. Freeze.
Mr. G: Yup. Who wears a hat and underpants and plays guitar?
Me: (Raising eyebrows in surprise). I don't know. Joker?
Mr. G: Nope. Guess again.
Mr. G: No.
Mr. G: No.
Me: Green Goblin?
Mr. G: NO! Naked Cowboy!
Of all the fun facts and snapshots Mommy brought back from New York City, apparently The Naked Cowboy left the greatest impression. And Mr. G seems to attribute Superhero status to a nearly naked man playing guitar in the middle of Times Square in twenty degree weather. He may have a point.