Airmail

I was sitting in the recliner the other day when LA #1 shot by me, making a hasty line to the front door with three torn pieces of half-scribbled coloring book pages. Just as she was about to step outside I asked her where in the world she was headed. She turned around slowly as if to indicate her disbelief at the fact that I had dared to pose the question. "Daaad! I need to put the mail outside so that the garbageman can take it to A and G!" (A and G are two of LA #1's little friends who have since moved from the area.) After setting the old man straight, she turned, stepped onto the porch and proceeded to throw the papers into the air. Satisfied that her "mail" would now reach its intended recipients, she stepped back inside and went back to the kitchen table to color, leaving her befuddled father shaking his head.