Mummies

Last week, I took my kids to my ultrasound appointment in the city. They were so fascinated by images of the baby's skeleton that after the appointment, I decided to take them across the street to check out some real ones.

Penn's Museum of Anthropology contains an impressive collection of Egyptian mummies in various states of undress. Before entering the mummy room, I thought it would be a good idea to put what my children would be seeing in some sort of historical context.
"Mummies are people who lived and died in Egypt around the time of Moses," I told my kids.
"Who?" they asked.
"Never mind."

I was a little worried about how my children would react to the sight of a mummified corpse, but I shouldn't have been concerned; they hardly paid any attention to the human remains, as they were far too busy examining a mummified dog that was lying next to its owner.
"I want one of those," said Kellen.
"Can we do that to Biscuit (our cat) when she dies?" asked Camber.
"We're going to need a lot of band-aids," said Cortlen.
"Lots," repeated Kellen.

I knew where this was going and I have to say that I was touched. My children are obsessed with band-aids, so much so that we use them as rewards for good behavior. My kids' proposal to cover their pet with several hundred of them represents the ultimate sacrifice, for band-aids that are placed on the cat are band-aids that cannot be placed over their own imaginary injuries.

"We should start buying band-aids for Biscuit now," suggested Camber, "Just in case."
My child's generosity warmed my heart. Maybe my kids were not as self-absorbed as I thought.
"And if she doesn't die soon," said Cortlen, "We can use them."
Then again, maybe not.