I’ve written and deleted a half-dozen posts–about how our life, lately, reminds me of a pointless This Old House show (lots of problems uncovered, but nothing gets fixed); about how pioneer women must have felt waiting out the long winter in their tiny cabins, without emails or Internet or even good books; about why I don’t write fiction, even though I admire it and love reading it.
But it’s like tossing an undercooked spaghetti noodle at the wall to see if it’s done–nothing seems to stick!
So instead, I’ll leave you with this: Avery has begun telling a knock-knock joke, which he tells over and over, to everyone’s amusement, especially his.
Avery: Knock knock.
Me: Who’s there?
Me: Poo who?
Avery: POO POO!
And then he grins and smiles and knows he’s said something a bit naughty, which makes him laugh and laugh, until I can’t help but laugh too. My little boy, telling a bathroom joke!