Le mauvais quart d’heure

Let’s call this the “before” picture: bucolic bibliophillia at the local library.

And this would make a suitable “after” picure, if only I were capable of overcoming the strong disinclination to photograph my kids when they are in the midst of feeling big feelings. And by big I mean BIG. I mean, I think the technical term for what the lil’ monkey had later in that afternoon was a COW.

Details to follow when we’ve all sufficiently recovered our senses. Meanwhile, if my mom was right (and she usually was), this period of her life, along with all things, shall pass.

[Later note: COW ennumerated here.]

2 thoughts on “Le mauvais quart d’heure”

  1. Oh. My. God. (I think that’s how it’s spelled out.) That was fantastic. Just how I feel, often.

    Fortunately the quarte d’heure, or actually vingt minutes, took place a mere hour later, at home. And when I have more than twenty minutes to spend on setting the rendition of it down for posterity (or posterior, as I like to say), I’ll attempt to do it (and whatever other stuff it laps up upon) justice.

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