Licorice to Die For

When we first moved to North Carolina 7 years ago we couldn't find anything but red licorice in the stores. But slowly, over the years, these southern supermarkets started stocking chocolate licorice, and then, in some select stores, black Twizzlers. But black "Nibs" were still no where to be found. However, yesterday in Target I found some!
I wanted to save them for a Labor Day road trip, but I knew that if Scott saw them, the Nibs would be history. So I put them on the counter with this note:

(I had to keep them on the counter so I would remember them for the road trip. I could have hid them, but I would have forgotten about them. In case you're wondering.)

Sophie (above in the cute crown made by her cousin) saw the note an was perplexed.

"Mom," she asked, "if you eat these you will die?"
"I put that note there for Daddy." I said.
"If Daddy eats these he will die?"
"Yes," I said, "But not because they are poisoned."
"Why will he die if he eats them?"
"Because I will kill him."
"You'll kill him!?"
"No, I won't really kill him. I just put the note there so he knows that I will be really, really mad if he eats them. I'll be mad, and he'll be 'dead.' Do you understand?"
"Okay--I've got it now," she said.
A couple minutes later I passed by the counter and saw another note attatched to the Nibs:

I think for Scott's sake Sophie just wanted to clarify.

Ode to a Toad

They found you behind the house
Among the weeds so tall,
And I told them, "Please be careful--
he is so delicate and so small."

They said they would be gentle,
And treat you with respect,
And give you all you ever needed
What more could I expect?

They made a little house for you,
And a little town,
Then they put you in a matchbox truck
And drove you all around.

Sometimes you would jump away
But they'd always put you back.
Until you stopped jumping altogether
And they thought you'd took a nap.

They laid you on your little back
In a leafy bed,
And said, "Be quiet, Mom, he's sleeping,"
And made a pillow for your head.

You could have died by snake bite,
You could have died from cold,
You cold have sung your dying song
After you'd grown old,

But instead you had a nobler end
That calmed your jumping feet.
You gave up your life for the sake of Play--
A cause so, so bittersweet.

No more fluttering heartbeat,
No more mossy breath.
Most froggies die nameless and forgotten,
A lucky few get loved to death.