Did You Live Under Power Lines as a Kid?

Here's an emergency post from the "Wow-I-never-thought-I'd-have-to-say-that-to-one-of-my-kids" department.

Just got home from the grocery store. While at Wal-mart, we had done a little pipe-dreaming in the paint section on the off chance that we can do a little improvement in the upstairs bathroom. We looked at a few different colors and then went about our grocery shopping. Squizzle felt that he had been pushed about as far as he was willing to go and by the time we got him through the line and out to the van, he was, as my father likes to say, "a bear with a sore butt".

Excedrin headache number twelve was blooming at the base of my shriveled brain stem and this bear was feeling a little chapped himself. The boss buckled him in and in an effort to keep him from splitting my skull, handed him some spare papers from her pocket. The boy got quiet and by the time we got home, he was silent.

We pulled into the drive, got out of the car and started to bring in the groceries. I was just opening the tailgate when I hear Haggis say "Squizzles, why are you eating paint chips?"

It seems one of the papers the Boss gave him to keep him quiet was one of the sample paint cards. The boy felt that it was pretty good eatin'.

All I can do is shake my head. As if the boy didn't have enough challenges in the brain department with me as his old man.

Chew away, Squizzle. Just stay out from under those powerlines.