Runaway Bunny

1753 1753_ () 1753 1753 Now that I’m feeling a lot better, I’m looking through some of the pictures I took towards the end of the summer — shots of our time at the farm and those promised photos from Elliott’s ingenious birthday dinner (which I will tell you about, I promise).

The problem was those events directly coincided with me starting to feel utterly gross and even just looking at the pictures made me feel worse. The brain sure is funny that way. Paul doesn’t entirely understand this, but we have a CD that we played over and over on a trip to the beach the year I was early pregnant and sick with Augie. It was a long time before I could listen to that music without automatically feeling like I was going to throw up. I’m sure there’s a name for that phenomenon.

As I was flipping through our pictures I came across this one classic I had to share. Something about this bunny screams HELP, oh-dear-Lord HELP!

The fate of this bunny is that he’s being raised to be in someone’s stew a few months from now. Charlie really wanted to keep him for a pet, and begged every single day if he could bring this little guy home with us. It’s almost like the bunny is sitting there really having to decide which of those two options would be worse. Coney stew or kid wearing a Chuck Norris tee?



What I’m Up Against

Me: Why don’t you go brush your teeth before we leave for school.

Him: Why would I brush my teeth?

I’m Melting

Henry is banging on the backdoor.

“I an here Mama,” he calls, “Un-yock da door.”

A Lovely Book (with a little bit of me!)