Clearly starved for playmates, Molly (left) and Annie have unearthed something stinky and dead, slapped it between a couple of leaves and voila – hours of girlie fascination followed by a solemn funeral for a furry friend. Trying to be the cool mom who doesn’t balk at such things, I tell myself that although there is a decaying rodent in the tent, the kids are having a whole buncha fun and who am I to tell them who and who not to play with? Especially out here in the middle of nowhere when all the other kids are back at school. (Molly keeps patting it, though, which is really grossing me out.) My husband tells me it’s only a vole, which although technically is not a mouse is clearly still a rodent, and therefore something to be avoided. But that’s just me.
The funeral involves some deadly serious chanting, a shroud of Kleenex and a shallow grave, even a few tears. I’m so glad we didn’t hit the deer we came so close to hitting yesterday because I can only imagine the funeral they would’ve cooked up for that.