As a mostly stay at home mom, I spend much of my time buying, and bringing home, the necessities that allow the five of us to function in our daily lives. You probably know the kinds of things I'm talking about. Groceries..Diapers...School supplies...Wine. My husband, on the other hand, brings home the fun stuff. Just yesterday, for example, he arrived home and told the kids he had brought them something really cool.

All three kids gathered around, waiting to see what amazing find he'd brought them this time. When they could no longer contain their excitement, he reached into his truck and pulled out...a salamander.

A real, live salamander.

No, scratch that.

A real dead salamander.

It made no difference to the kids. They were still incredibly excited that Daddy had brought them something to look at. They examined it and asked the questions you would expect.

Where did it used to live?

Why wasn't it alive anymore?

Where exactly had he gotten a dead salamander? (That one was at the top of my list, too).

He didn't have definite answers to the first two questions, but he was able to tell them that his friend from work had left the dead salamander in his truck.

Wow. We should all have friends like that.

When our three-year-old started asking more about the salamander's unfortunate demise, I briefly worried that his dad bringing home a dead salamander had traumatized him. When I told him, in response to his questions, that I thought we would probably all die when we're very, very old, he decided that he didn't want to get old.

He then led his siblings on a march around our front yard, as they loudly chanted:

Don't Get Old!

Don't Get Old!

Don't Get Old!

OK, so I may have also joined in. Just for a minute.

Who knows? Maybe he's found the secret to eternal youth.

I'm pretty sure that any dead salamander related trauma has subsided, at least. This morning as my husband left for work, my six-year-old daughter hugged him and said,

What are you going to bring us today, Dad?

Maybe a dead frog?