Goodbye, Tadpoles

Flying death leaps off the top of the jungle gym at school, in the chilly shadows of post-Daylight’s Saving Time. None of the 4th grade boys were afraid to bite the ground on the way down. One could only hope there were no broken bones just in time for basketball season.

Later that evening, Oxbear and Puck worked on cleaning out the tadpole tank. Unfortunately, it looked like they had all been “duds”, and survival had not been successful. Puck was brave.

“Well, what should we do with the tank?” Oxbear asked him.

Puck was unsure. “I don’t really want a fish, Dad. Because then I will be sad when it dies.”

The boys left the clean tank in the basement for undecided potential future options.

About an hour later, Puck found plenty of reasons to stay up past his eight o’clock bedtime.

“Mom, I seriously need to trim my toenails. Look at that.”

He shoved one bare foot under my face.

“Hon, that can save until tomorrow.”

“Mom, really. I have to do this now. I need to trim my toenails. They won’t trim themselves!”