mutation

I was awoken this morning not by the delicate chirrup of birdsong, not by the happy giggles of +3/3 but by some loud clucking. Apparently, somehow, during the night +2/3 had mutated into a chicken complete with realistic feet (it helps if you squint a bit...). A chicken that wears jimjams.

Sometimes you suddenly realize just how completely independent in thought children are; it's tempting to think of them as extensions of you but the reality is completely different.