NaNoWriMo 2014: Chapter 11

“Mom, were home!” I yell, while settling down all of our food. “Hi guys, sorry I couldn’t pick you up early, I was busy at work.” She tells us. Oh, right, she was supposed to pick us up early, oh well. “What did you buy?” she asks me. “Let’s see.” I tell her. “I bought a chocolate chip muffin and an iced cappuccino, I bought David a Chocolate chip donut and a fruit juice, I bought you six mini tid bits and, finally, Leah bought us each a cupcake, so four cupcakes.” I hope she’s not mad… “And how much did this happen to cost you?” she asks. “Ten dollars.”
“Well then, everyone dig in!” she yells! Fortunately, she is in a rather pleasant mood.
At about four thirty, my mothers calls us, to tell us to get ready for karate, and that we are living in ten minutes. Like always, I help David into his uniform and tie on his belt. He has an orange belt, which I think is pretty good for a four year old!
At four forty, my mother calls, and tells us its time to leave, I grab a science worksheet, that is due next week, and then we head out the door.
I’m aching to hear Sienna’s DDK. I wonder what she got.
On the way to the karate studio, we pass an unusual road sign. It talks about Derek Smool and how every scientist who is alive, should be hunted down and killed. Hopefully this isn’t true. I wonder why the government hasn’t requested to take down the sign. It just seems so weird to be put up in this neighbourhood. But I guess that request, most certainly, cannot not be made by me. Now that my father is a full time scientist, I take the news and signs like those, a little bit more seriously then I normally would. But I also have to remember, that those words are not aimed directly at me, just the scientist job population as a whole.

What are your thoughts?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s