It's Sam.  There are rumors within our pack that he might go rogue.  There are signs that are getting harder and harder to ignore.  The past full moon cycle, his hair sprung out from his head a whole inch and no two hairs agreed with another about which way to grow.  After the moon waned to a crescent, his hair settled.  But then there is the screaming for deli meat, the clawing at his high chair, the relentless sniffing across the floor for fallen food.  His bond with the German Shepherd is tightening.  They share the same obsession for the garden hose.  The other night, Gunther was using a blankie during his "rest time".  The lines between boy and dog are beginning to blur. 
Then it happened one quiet morning.  Gunther or Sam couldn't give us a straight answer.  No witnesses, just the carnage of the aftermath. 
Have you ever seen the juices of a caterpillar undergoing it's transformation into it's flying self?  I haven't.  Then I did.  The iodine colored pulp that dissolves the caterpillar into a soup with bits of muscle and organ chunks was smeared across Sam's once "world's most kissable lips".  The dried bits of the chrysalis were scattered at his feet.  I gagged. 

The other night all the kids were playing in their bedroom, when Ender comes stumbling down the hallway wailing at the top of his lungs and holding his arm.
"Oh what did Cora do?" I ask.
"Sam, mom!  It was Sam!  He bit me!"  shrieked Ender.
Not a second later, I hear desperate screaming coming from the back bedroom.  I go in to find Cora cornered, her jammie pants half way up and Sam beating her over the head with a bamboo stick. She's trapped, desperate, panicking, not even trying to defend herself, or cover her head. 
Sam is enjoying the raucous he raised.  With both big kids crying, he's quite satisfied and toddles off to find something else to do. 

In conclusion the baby has rabies or teething molars.

*note: just mud, I repeat just mud.  Not caterpillar puss  :) 

They are gone.  All of them.  Well.... here's a little secret.  Currently, they are all stashed in my underwear drawer.  It was a last ditch attempt to get them out of sight from bleary and teary eyed Cora. 
Let me take you back a bit....

One day I was gazing out the living room window while Cora was on the couch reading.  I was ruminating about my own frustrations and false ideas of personal progress when I heard that irritating sucking sound.  I turned and saw Cora had snuck a fist full of poppies (house rules: She can't have them during the day) and was going to town on them. 
"That's it!  I'm getting rid of those fake rubber nipples and I will claim this victory as mine!" 
I called Zander up at work to not ask, but warn him of my plan, of one of the most decisively fell swoops this home has ever seen"
Was I too late?   "Whoa, Leslie, what are you thinking?! Do you really want to do it now?" The evil of the poppy had gotten to Zander too.
"YES!  There is no talking me out of it!"
"No no no."
"Yes yes yes, Zander"
"Well, just save one, just in case"
"Just in case for what?!  Just in case there is a shortage on nipples in this world?!  They are absolutely the most obsolete parenting tool in our lives are right now."  Besides I needed this.  I needed a win.
Click of the receiver.

That night the grim reaper of the poppies visited our home.  Well, Grim reaper, angel, Jesus depends on who you ask  :) 

Cora wept and wailed, begged and pleaded, threatened to never sleep again, etc.  It wasnt until Zander saw the poppies for what they truly were to her and he proceeded to give a small eulogy.  He empathized with her loss and in a sweet embrace, felt a sigh of acceptance from her flustered frame. 

I concocted a quick sappy tale of the fairies coming to our house and asking for poppy donations for their little ones.   That ticked her off.  ha! 

So ends the Age of the Poppies.