Above is what can happen when you leave your child at home alone all day with his dad--boredom sets in and the electric trimmer comes out. When I left home this boy was perfectly whole, untroubled, happy, emotionally healthy--he had hair. Spitfire and I arrive home from a long day of girl bonding and lady-bug stalking to find Destructo in a state of anxiety--only a shell of the toddler he once was, lost and floundering in a world full of people with more hair (with the exception of Dart Guy, who took the clippers to his own head too). Okay, okay. I embellish some. Really he is fine, not scarred for life, but maybe I am, since Dart Guy took away most of the visible evidence that some of my DNA lurks inside of Destructo (curls). He does still have the brown eyes, which Spitfire recently informed me, on a tip-off from Dart Guy, means a person is full of. . . fish.



Below is only one of about fifty, poor, traumitized lady-bugs that had the misfortune of being captured on Saturday while Spitfire and a good friend ran wild at their camp-site. Said lady-bugs made the drive home last night in an empty raisen box and were easy targets this morning for Spitfire and Baldy Destructo, who decided to have a lady-bug throwing contest in our living room. We said a small blessing for our peace-loving, red and black friends.