The Grim Reaper by Big Z

My daughter, who just turned eight, is passing the time this evening by drawing pictures. This one is my favorite.

He looks very... enthusiastic, doesn't he? So eagerly clutching his scythe. I almost wouldn't mind leaving this mortal coil with him.

My Daughter's Garden

My daughter is seven. She's been begging me and hounding me to till part of the lawn so that she could have her "very own vegetable garden." I didn't really think about it until just now, but the only vegetables she really eats are seaweed and cucumbers. We don't live by the seashore, so the seaweed is imported. And now she's planted her garden. This is her garden:

The sign is an old one. "Cucumber," it says. One lovely cucumber plant. (Her piano teacher gave it to her.) May it be fruitful. 

Recycling

Z: "I think I have Martha's old lunch box."

Me: "What do you mean? Who's Martha?"

Z: "A girl at school who had the exact same lunch box as me last year."

Me: "Oh, so she had one like yours? Cool."

Z: "No, I mean I have her exact same lunch box. We bought it at the thrift store, right?"

Me: "Yeah."

Z: "She gave hers to the thrift store. I have Martha's old lunch box."

Me: "Oh. Well. That's cool."

Z: "Yeah."

Picture Unrelated