Right under the window of my dining room is a playground. Among the other walkers there regularly comes there with her offspring of 4-5 years a girl.
And I’m chasing the tea, to watch, military-nolense. See and hear. It would go, and so well, and the weather, and the tea, and smoke under the tea and the weather (smoking is bad, the bulls smoke in the ashes well).
The girl leaves her baby and sits on the bench to tap into the phone. If there are no children on the site, then the mother's basket picks up a rod, and is worn with a wild reed along the perimeter, spinning a rod over the iron fence, or crumbling on such a machine, which is made to the site with a thick sprinkle. Oret as well. It hurts as if it is torn into pieces. It plays so. The girl has already indicated this. Wiped off the whores: Achotacov? The child.
When children appear, the game is concentrated in the sandbox. Chado stops roaring and for a while, together with everyone, something is digging into this sandbox. But not long. Whether it is a shoulder to load, or a sand to throw. And immediately in the rave, and to the store to Mom. Mom stands up, hand in hand, to all the comments one answer: yours are not crying, but my crying. Catch your own hooligans.
Their father, a healthy, good-hearted child, joined the family a couple of times on a walk, at the outcome of the son shakenly turned his head, bursting apologies and threw to his wife:
- Katyusha, mla, after the boy, mla, follow, mla. I can’t do it and raise the boy, and I took the family home.
Yesterday, my grandfather brought the boy to the square. Intelligent look, in glasses, with a truss. He sat down, opened the book and started reading. The child was accustomed and rattled. The grandfather called him in a few minutes:
Smoke, or you will be silent, or I will feed you with dog shit. Choose, so calmly and firmly said.
The smoke, bleeding, shut his mouth.
Remember, you cannot scream. Otherwise, someday someone will feed you with dog shit. Mom and Dad won’t help. I understood? Go and play.
I opened the book again.
Smoke brought the children to the sandbox. And, soon, I was already weeping to my grandfather, having managed to sink some of the boys in the sand.
Grandfather continued to read unwaveringly, Dima caught up with a wheel of little boys and he was struck with sand, and shouldered. The smoke waved with a cut pork.
My parents, mom and dad jumped out.
The mother cried out to her son, saying that she did not expect this from her father. Is it my grandfather? This is a whirlwind!!! to
The father read the book with indolence, and only once ran with his son-in-law, who behind his wife's back showed his mother-in-law Lois.