Shel Silverstein once wrote about the "What Ifs." He must've known the Howler.
She is fundamentally a walking, talking "What If."
She started Kindergarten recently, and has spent at least a short time every evening going over some of the "What Ifs" that run, unsupervised, through her head. (She has begun to worry about 1st grade, 3rd grade, and 5th grade simultaneously. She isn't sweating going to high school--yet--because she knows she's not as big as those big kids--yet.)
Anyway, she stresses about things that have happened; about things that haven't happened; about things that will never happen; about things that are going to happen. She will get in a jag about it...and go on for hours, talking incessantly about all the stuff that's in her head.
Good or bad, all those real and unreal events stroll through her consciousness like a never-ending badly edited movie.
Last night was the best one yet:
She had filled her sandbox with water from her pool, and Daddy said that we wouldn't cover her sandbox so it could (hopefully) dry out.
The Howler about had a heart attack.
"What if a raccoon POOPS in it?" (Keeping in mind that in the 39 years I've lived here, I've never even heard of someone seeing a raccoon, let alone a raccoon POOPING in, on, or near anything.)
The morning, Daddy looks out the kitchen window and notices that her pink gators had been left out on the patio. Now, it's 6am, and there's not enough oxygen out to be kidding around...
He says, "Uh-oh. Howler shoes on patio. Hope a raccoon didn't POOP in them!"
(and then, tonight after supper, she raced out the door to play with Blondie--whom the Toad refers to as "the twin" because their given names are similar--we tell her to get her shoes off the patio...but be careful putting them on. They may have raccoon POOP in them.)
She is fundamentally a walking, talking "What If."
She started Kindergarten recently, and has spent at least a short time every evening going over some of the "What Ifs" that run, unsupervised, through her head. (She has begun to worry about 1st grade, 3rd grade, and 5th grade simultaneously. She isn't sweating going to high school--yet--because she knows she's not as big as those big kids--yet.)
Anyway, she stresses about things that have happened; about things that haven't happened; about things that will never happen; about things that are going to happen. She will get in a jag about it...and go on for hours, talking incessantly about all the stuff that's in her head.
Good or bad, all those real and unreal events stroll through her consciousness like a never-ending badly edited movie.
Last night was the best one yet:
She had filled her sandbox with water from her pool, and Daddy said that we wouldn't cover her sandbox so it could (hopefully) dry out.
The Howler about had a heart attack.
"What if a raccoon POOPS in it?" (Keeping in mind that in the 39 years I've lived here, I've never even heard of someone seeing a raccoon, let alone a raccoon POOPING in, on, or near anything.)
The morning, Daddy looks out the kitchen window and notices that her pink gators had been left out on the patio. Now, it's 6am, and there's not enough oxygen out to be kidding around...
He says, "Uh-oh. Howler shoes on patio. Hope a raccoon didn't POOP in them!"
(and then, tonight after supper, she raced out the door to play with Blondie--whom the Toad refers to as "the twin" because their given names are similar--we tell her to get her shoes off the patio...but be careful putting them on. They may have raccoon POOP in them.)
2 comments:
I wouldn't be able to cope with that either, because you know, maybe not raccoons, but feral cats? We covered our soaked sandbox though, and it got moldly, so I say take your chances.
I LOVE Shel Silverstein!!
Better check those shoes before you put them on!!
Love it, Mumple!
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