the best pet

At least once a week Catcher asks me if we can get a dog. I tell him no, and then he asks if we can have a cat before he eventually resorts to begging for a guinea pig. Sometimes he accepts my inevitable "no" to his pet question, but other times he turns the questioning into an interrogation worthy of a Law & Order episode. He wants to know why (and why and why and why...). Last week when I was exhausted of the whys I finally told him that he could have a pet: a pet rock.

He wasn't on board with this idea at first. He was worried that his pet rock might need glasses and he didn't know how to draw glasses. This realization nearly sent him to tears until I turned the tables on him and asked how he could take care of a dog--because you know this is always the first line of defense when a child is asking for a pet ("I'll take care of it," they exclaim)--if he couldn't look after a rock. Catcher finally conceded. Meet Homer:

Scout quickly caught wind of all this the pet rock buzz and decided she should have not one but two pet rocks of her own. A boy and a girl. Their names are Scout (and Scout). Tillie, of course, followed suit and gathered her own stone, which went by the name Hannah. Below is my attempt at a family portrait:

After the rocks were abandoned on the sidewalk--and these are the kids trying to convince me they would take care of a living, breathing animal--we turned to sidewalk chalk and shadow dancing to entertain ourselves on this beautiful afternoon (can I get a hallelujah on the warm weather?).

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