Bugs

Every now and again, I look down at Sophie and she’s got this special look on her face: like she’s trying to hold something back, and spit something out all at once. Tonight, she had that look. Usually, when I see it, I sweep in and with one finger do a pass of her mouth. It’s typically something like catfood or dirt. While it sounds strange to those without children, I can live with catfood or dirt in her mouth. I’ve grown accustomed to them both. Thus, the rift that grows between those with small children, and those without.

Tonight, on the first finger-sweep, I pulled from her mouth one crushed, red-and-black wing. Panicked, I did another finger-sweep and pulled forth the mutilated remains of a ladybug.

So, I gave her a big drink of water and thanked goodness that bugs are full of protein.

What I Never Understood About My Parents

When I was a kid, and I’d do something stupid (which happened a lot), my parents and I would always resolve it the same way: I’d break down and apologize for [insert stupid thing], mom and dad would chide me for [insert stupid thing], and we’d all share a joke and a hug. Then they’d say something I never understood. They’d tell me how much they loved me and that there was no way for me to understand what they were feeling until I had a child of my own. Of course, I was 13 or 14 then and the idea of having a child of my own was pretty creepy, much as was the idea that my parents didn’t know how they "felt" about me.

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