The Vikings

I sat both boys down for dinner – plates of Oxbear’s first-try smoked ham – after we had finished discussing ideas about Heaven on the hammock, just the three of us for awhile, and about our Viking heritage, and other things. It was a lazy post-school afternoon; not super common.

“Mom?” Puck asked between mouthfuls. “Can you lick your elbow?”

After we all tried that – none of us was successful – I remembered the giant spider in the basement I had forgotten to kill. So we paused for a brief extermination. Then back to the ham where I caught both boys resting their bare feet on the table.

“Boys, get your feet off the table. We’re not Vikings. Well… I guess we are actually, but still.”