Stomach Wolves

The three children. Two are going to school this morning. One is staying home to try to make Mether laugh.

Around here, when observing less-than-optimal behavior, we toss around phrases like, "Were you born in a barn? Shut the door!" and "Use your fork! Were you raised by wolves?" We're joking, usually, trying to make a point. But it sinks in, and comes back out in interesting ways.

Liam was bemoaning the fact that his best friend in second grade, "Jeremy," won't play with him at recess. Instead, he collects pebbles on the playground, spending his time absorbed in this solitary pursuit.

"Well, honey, maybe he just needs to wind down at recess. Spend some time thinking his own thoughts."
Liam spooned some chocolate pudding in his little cakehole.
"Poor Jeremy. He was born in a rock's stomach."

This is the kind of observation that has earned Liam the title, "King of the Non Sequitur." And yet it made a perfect kind of sense.

Phoebe, who was helping me shell lima beans from the garden, cut her eyes at me and whispered,
"Raised by stomach wolves."

I laughed all the way through a big plastic bag of lima beans, and got them all shelled. They're so good I'm going to put them in a cream sauce for my little stomach wolves.
What would I do without my babies? They make me laugh .
First day of school, August 22, 2007.