That it started this morning with a G-rated turkey craft and two kids in their underwear…
And ended tonight like this…just means…uh, something.
But I have no idea what.
I guess I’ll start with what I remember.
I, uh, remember pulling out the paint…
And then noticing my son’s eye for color. As well as his knowledge about what colors tukeys might actually be. Uh…or not be. Those be the turkey’s feathers.
And here are my daughter’s feathers. Completely compliant with Fall.
These are my son’s hands. And those are his turkeys. I can only say that he poured a lot of love into those feathers.
And earned himself an “A” for concentration on the black paint.
Here we are an hour later fattening our turkeys.
And here, after way too much time on a single craft and after a complete meltdown by the one in pajamas, are our turkeys.
Apparently looking suspect–to, uh, something. As later this evening, my husband called out from the kitchen, “come here, quick. You gotta see this.”
Only I couldn’t tell you what I was expecting.
I just know it wasn’t this.
And which is why I’m tellin’ ya. Ain’t nothin’ safe around here.
Especially not a lunch-bag turkey with blue and black feathers some twelve feet away.
Or its cousin.
And since picking off paper turkeys on the ledge of the living room is the kind of fun you can’t keep to yourself, here’s my son taking aim at a turkey.
Only he’s maimed the thing and has to reload.
And my goodness, there it goes.
Which calls for a momentary restock.
Because everybody needs a turn…