The Benevolent Jailers

This evening as I was doing dishes, I heard an odd whooshing sound and turned around to find Cubby pulling Poppy through the kitchen in a big box.

"That's a good big box for her," I remarked.

"It's her jail," he replied, continuing to haul her into the living room. He parked her there in her jail-box and he and Charlie spent some time taping up any escape routes.

This didn't seem to concern her unduly.

I had to ask what she did to get in jail.

Charlie: She didn't pay her taxes. For her job.

Me: Her taxes? For what job?

Cubby: She flies planes.

Me: Ah. She's a pilot who didn't pay her taxes. Better let Uncle Jim* know what happens to pilots who don't pay their taxes. 

Cubby and Charlie took turns patrolling past the jail, adding some home comforts for the pleasure of the tax-evading baby pilot.

Happy prisoners are easier to control, you know.

They also constructed a perimeter wall to foil any escape attempts. And gave her a flashlight.

Obviously a pleasing addition to the cell.

I must say that the baby being held prisoner in the box that formerly contained her diapers seems very appropriate. 

Just a Tuesday night with kids.

* My brother is an airline pilot. He's very scrupulous about paying his taxes, though, I'm sure.