Owen, trying desperately to pry me away from the computer.
“Mama, please get us a snack- we’re hungry!”
This is about the twentieth woebegone request, so I get up and say “Oh, you children are so neglected! Are you the most neglected children ever?”
And the ungrateful child replies “Yes.”
Today we went to see a friend who just had a baby, and so I went to get the car from the courtyard and pull it up front. As I opened the front door, I heard something slam in the kitchen, and Owen comes out looking guilty.
“Mama” he says. “I cut my hair, but just a little bit.”
A *whole* chunk, missing from the back of his head- picture a friar, without the robes. Sheesh.