Oct. 15th, 2008

porphyry: (lilith)
 I always suspected that Malkhos and I were born too late.

Every night, I read Madeline four of her favorite books before she goes to bed.  One is called Bludbird's Nest.  The story is fairly simple:  the narrative begins in autumn and chronicles a mother bird working on her project of building a nest for the spring.  As the pages are turned and the story is told about how she builds the nest, brown yarn, strand by strand, takes the shape of a nest.  The last page of the story features a pop-up nest with four baby bluebirds in it.

This is where Madeline gets confused.  "Where is the daddy bird?"  she asks, and I must admit, the first time she asked me this question, she took me by surprise.  "I don't know," I said.  "Maybe off looking for more worms."

But Madeline didn't accept this.  "No, it's that one right there!" she said, pointing to the largest of the baby birds.

"Is it?" I said.

"Yes," she replied. "And that's the Grammy bird, and the Papa bird, and the Andrew bird!"

"That's right," I said.

Later, Malkhos said to me, "May God make sure that the Department of Family Services never knows that we're telling her that a family has both a mother and a father in it." 

"Of course not," I said.  "It might be actionable."
porphyry: (Default)
Remember my recent post about the creationist theory of languages? This new development shows that satire really is impossible (Tom Lehrer realized this after Kissinger won the Nobel Peace Prize).

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