Ba-Boom! There Goes My Head!

Aaaaigh! No sleep for the next two days! I hope that Kinko's isn't swamped at 3 A.M. this morning when I will probably be there, madly copying away. And somehow I have to figure out how to retrieve my car from the mechanic in San Mateo before 5:00. Yes, that is a bald plea for assistance, locals.

The funny thing is that this project of mine is something the kids won't even give a crap about, compared to the piles of molded plastic product tie-ins they've been brainwashed into craving. I remember quite clearly what an ungrateful little shit I was about homemade vs. bought presents, and so will not be offended.

Leelo seems to be a different boy lately. Many people have commented on it--he's observing and looking at and scrutinizing people, even if they look back at him. Overall he seems to be much more with us. I hope the trauma of travel doesn't upset him so much that he retreats back into remoteness mode while we're staying with the grandparents who are funding most of his therapy and are hoping to see results.

Iz and Merlin have apparently come up with a game called "Army Kids," where the kids all run around with knives and shoot guns. Seymour is not amused, but I told him that the kids are starting to get to that age where this is standard playground discussion fare. It's not our job to just say "no, you can't play or draw guns because they're bad and that's that." We have to go into active parenting mode, where we advise and discuss and try to inform and get battered with left-field questions we'd never considered.

So, long discussion with Iz in the car this morning about how real guns and knives are not for play, they are weapons. Weapons are for hurting or killing, so unless you are an an adult and a highly trained soldier, pirate, hunter, or police officer, weapons are not really appropriate. Her response: "Well, the Army Kids are teenagers and they are soldiers, so they are almost adults and they can use weapons." Goddammit. I am very interested in how other people approach this topic.

Here is Iz's rendition of Cindy, the head Army Kid. Note the firing gun and knife, and the USA on her skirt:

Fuck fuck fuck fuckity fuck! I am freaking out. Someone should probably come protect my poor husband from the screaming, puffing harpy wife who will greet him at the train station this evening.

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