Saturday, April 19, 2008
My 3-year-old is a terrorist. His victims are furry rodents, not the American satan, but he's as relentless as Al Qaeda as he carries out the fatwa against squirrels and wabbits. "Come out here, wabbit!" he shrieks, shouldering a wiffle bat. They're nowhere to be found; word has spread among the bunny community of a shaggy-headed, chubby-legged warrior bent on mayhem, and they've gone way underground. Our flowers are safe as long as Osama Bun-Battin remains as relentlessly determined as he is to root out and destroy the cotton-tailed infidel.