Rock, Paper, Scissors
My twelve-year-old marches in from the backyard, holds a fist-sized rock with a tiny, telltale, red-paint smudge. How could you? she asks. I’d scrubbed away its prior life as a kindergarten paperweight in a Marie Kondo-purge-the-clutter moment, and placed it with a rocky family in a shaded corner of the garden. But when …