Except this is not a Kitsnaps. This is a picture taken by Young Indiana, who is captivated by my big camera and asked, “Mama, can *I* try some pfa..fopa…forpar…far-tography?” I think “‘far’tography” is the most wonderful word in the world, and will be featuring Indy’s far-tography from time to time on Kitsnaps. What a darling kid.
Nephew: Excuse me? I have an important question. How powerful is Captain Britain? Could he beat Superman? Me, having already described the “the one who serves the story best” aspect of this kind of question and delighted to be asked: I *believe* CB’s power is drawn from the spirit of the British people, so potentially yes but probably only under certain circumstances. Nephew: Right, great, okay. How about Captain Britain against Juggernaut? Me: They’d go toe to toe. Nephew departs, totally happy ♥ :) I made Blackberry Pi on Monday,…
For some reason I was reminded, this morning, of a discussion a few years ago post-Snowden, where an acquaintance of mine who had worked in the intelligence field spoke at great length, and passionately, about why Snowden had been wrong to leak the surveillance information that he did. His reasons were (roughly) matters of trust inside intelligence agencies, safety of intelligence officers, necessity of some secrets being kept, and possibly a couple other things I’m now forgetting. It was well reasoned and well written and I fundamentally understood and agreed…
Epic disciplinary parenting fail: Note from teacher: Young Indiana had to be spoken to in the yard for licking other children. Me, already trying not to giggle: Indy, did you lick someone in the yard today? Indy, full of big blue eyes and guilelessness: Remember the game we were playing where we were dogs? Me: …yes… Indy: I saw one of my owners, so I had to lick him! Me: *completely loses it, bursts out laughing* I’m still giggling. I eventually managed to look solemn enough to say he shouldn’t…
Woe, our guest has had to return home, but she has left us with many smiles and funny memories. The other night she cleared her plate from the table, then returned to the dining room, where she picked up a napkin and wrung it as she gazed indecisively at our plates. Ted said, in the driest and most certain tone ever, “You’re procrastinating. Go work on your thesis.” She said, “I’m NOT! I’m trying to be a good guest!” Ted said, “I’m married to a writer and you’re procrastinating. Go…