TENTS

a variation on the Ikea divorce theme

My children are apparently in some sort of developmental phase where jumping onto your shoulders from the back of the couch, bending your neck backwards with their full bodyweight, and trying to stick their hands and a small stuffed cat in your mouth is somehow supposed to contribute to their eventual understanding of boundaries.

I try to only give shut-that-shit-down feedback when I need to, so that we don’t end up with a “cry wolf” situation that confuses the very real demarcations between roughhousing and ambulance-ride, but it’s really hard not to yell STOP FOR GODSAKES STOP the second I hear one of them coming.

This scene, plus a house filled with dangerously stacked firewood (always a hit), opened and partially gummed Halloween candy, and gourds in various states of decay hidden under cushions and inside boots (my kids have a produce fetish) is the scene into which my husband introduced the tent.