My son chose sushi for his snack.
G: Last Saturday G spent the night with a couple of friends. The mom-in-charge took those boys to Dillons in Andover on their way back from Wichita to let each of the boys choose a snack for the evening. The cornucopia was there for them: any processed, barely recognizable “food” was theirs for the taking. My son chose sushi for his snack. Sushi. As eight year old boys often do.
Little Missy: During that long spell of gorgeous weather we sat on our porch a lot. The kids read books or colored or chased each other in the yard. One night Little Missy got her teacher voice on and brought out grapes for us to eat, then taught us (her class) how to peel them properly, then walked around to survey our progress and help us out if we needed it.
Baby Chickadee: Last Sunday on the way to church Baby Chickadee sang random vowels, semi-screeching notes from all over the scale in no discernible pattern. At the end she bent her elbows, turned her palms to the ceiling and shrugged her shoulders: “I sing a pwetty song! You wike it?”