Aidan (armed with Nerf gun) : "Aww, I missed."
Me: "What are you aiming at?"
Aidan: "Jesus." (gestures at icon on the wall in hallway)
Me: "Aidan!"
Aidan: "What? He's already dead on the cross!"
Sigh. Thanks, Santa.
Aidan: "I already shot his mom in the living room."
Maybe we just have too much religious art?
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Percy Bysshe Shelley lamented that the words of a poet are like fading embers, unable to capture the true fire of inspiration. These words of mine struggle to capture the uncapturable moments of life so that I may look upon their fading glow and remember the true fire.
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