Counting Peas

A mulish five-year old in front of a plate of peas has nothing on me.

Let me explain.

Yesterday, I picked apart the remaining to-do’s on The Hushing Days and spread them all out in front of me.

Nineteen tasks stared back at me.

I moaned. I whined. I may have even thrown a little fit. “But, Mommy, there’s so many of them! I’m going to be here forever!”

Just like a child with nineteen peas between him and a mountain of fresh-from-the-box LEGOs, I pouted.

*sighs*

Don’t worry. I’ll stuff the nineteen down somehow. Might have to slip a few into my pocket, but my plate will be clean and I will get to play with my LEGO’s… but the process is not going to be pleasant.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The Honey Directive

If I ever, ever get it in my fool head again to write a story about six brothers instead of let’s say the manageable two or three, please slap me silly.

Lock me in a cupboard amongst the canned peas.

Tackle me to the floor and bind my fingers together with gorilla glue.

Wrestle me into a hoop skirt and stuff me up the chimney.

Tie me to a tree in the front yard, slather me with honey and call in the bees.  

Whatever it takes, just stop me!

Thank you.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe