So all this talk about taxidermy must've given The Boy a hankerin' for the natural history museum, which is where he talked his dad into taking The Girl and him yesterday. When I called to tell him goodnight, I asked how the museum was.
"Okay," he said.
"And how were the animals?" I asked
"You know, the stuffed ones. Grrr."
[Laughing] "Mama, they don't go 'grrr'. They're dead! They can't grrr at you."
Why do we make death into such a big thing? Have you ever noticed that it's the grownups who try to make things all nice and la-di-da for the kids? They're perfectly happy with marauding rhinocerotes and killer wizards and ogres and boiled wolves and seafoam and so forth. Who are we trying to fool?