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My sons have both developed an interest in photography because we gave their sister a camera for her Summer Camp trip. They ‘steal’ my camera rather than hers because mine is silent.

When he skips into the house I catch him red handed. I flip through his latest batch with a frown. “I am be foto dah dead fings.” Against my better judgment I must conclude that this is a “good thing.”

I dash outside with the kitchen scissors and cut off every offensive crispy brown head I can find. The newly rigged up “irrigation” system is extremely irritating, intermittent and generally unco-operative. Behind me, since I am never really alone, my son hovers in the door way as he clutches Piplup to his chest, close to his heart.
“What you are do?” he asks without prompting.
“I'm just giving this plant a haircut!”
As I reply, I am simultaneously aware that my words have another interpretation, “nothing screams neglect more than an untrimmed bush!”

He runs inside yelping, “don neglect me!

Although to be honest, my mind was somewhere else entirely.

For more words, I have a new post up on “alien” called “All Frightfully Chummy” and a “note from “Nonna” called “Leaf Location.”

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