Our scissors-wielding lads have been cutting up a storm—and cutting, and cutting, and cutting; they’re now well acquainted with the terms “confetti” and “sweeping.” I always worry that they’ll blind or stab someone, so we try to enforce smart scissors-handling, requiring the guys to carry them blades-down (or by the blades). I guess that wasn’t quite enough for Finn, though: the other day he popped onto the back porch, gripping his scissors in Mom-O’s oven mitt, as you can see here. “Dad-O!” he proudly announced, “Now I can run around with scissors!!” Well, something like that, son. 🙂
