Berry Picking

The kidlings and I went strawberry picking the other day. Unlike our friends who picked 26 pounds of strawberries, we picked barely enough to cover the bottom of our basket- about four pounds.

It was the perfect day, sunny , warm, lightly breezy. The kids bounced around. Navy planes were flying low as they prepared to land on base. The Verbalist jumped up and down squealing, "Navy Plane! Go Navy!!"

The Muralist was more focused, she was hunting for "the perfectus, juciest, reddest berry for daddy."

"What about me?" I ask. "Are you going to find one for me?"

"No," she replies dismissively. "Find your own. You're good at berry picking."

Well. That puts me in my place. She ran up and down the rows parting leaves and peering at the berries.

The Shreiker sat in the stroller and glanced interestedly around. She accepted the bounty of berries given to her with good cheer. Heaven help us if we were not fast enough. A preemptory shout of displeasure would ring down the road. I detailed the Verbalist on Shreiker berry duty.

*Screech* (Shreiker)

"Here baby," pipes the Verbalist placing a berry somewhat near her hands as his eyes scan the skies expectantly. "NAVY PLANE!!!!! Go Navy!!"

*Screech!*

"Oh. Here baby..."