Words are my thing but sometimes they just escape me.
Like the guillotine story.
Our older son was 11 at the time. He and his younger sister, who was 6 at the time, were cooking up adventures all afternoon.
At that time, our family had 40 acres of grassland accented with a barn and a few rustic out buildings. Plenty of places for adventure.
So I had let them explore while I worked in the back yard. But when Younger Sister came through the yard carrying a big stick and a bread basket, I had to ask.
“What’s that for?”
“Oh!” She stopped and her face lit up with a big smile. “Nick says that you can see for three second after you get your head chopped off. So we’re going to find out.”
Words escaped me on that day.
Not long after that day, our younger son, at age 4, announced to me that he liked the color purple as long as it wasn’t pink.
Um. Words escaped me that time, too.
I write and I speak but not always when my kids were in full blossom.
