"We be JAMMIN'!"
Yes, I'm trying to come up with the worst rural fetish blogpost title ever. That one is definitely in the running.
Stevie was in the kitchen, endlessly doodling detailed alien/Uruk-hai battle scenes with Sharpies on the one-sided paper I bring home from work. I was standing at the counter, doing something. Again with the memory problems. I heard a buzzing sound, looked to my left, and there it was--a bee-like creature (not a bee, not a wasp, but tubular with yellow/black stripes--what IS this thing?) and it was hovering in one spot. I mean not moving at all, except for the seemingly exhausting flapping of wings. I moved a touch to one side, it turned to look. I moved a step thataway, it turned to face me. I alerted Stevie and we watched, increasingly amused, as the bee-like creature watched me, probably amused him/herself. Finally, it landed on Stevie's chair (which he had vacated moments before) and Stevie decided to get his bug habitat (a hard-plastic container all done-up inside to resemble a bug-world; nice, but fakey--kinda like "natural" zoo habitats) and catch the little fella/gal.
Now Stevie is sitting on a barstool, bug habitat in hand. (The sham bee followed us into the living room and was taking a rest on the floor.) When I say Stevie was sitting on a barstool, I mean that he was sitting on top of the barstool--straddling the narrow ridge that was designed to cradle only the shoulder blades, not developing testes. Looking up long enough from my selfish pursuits to notice this precarious perch, I said, "That's a really good way to jam your testicles, Stevie." After a brief reminder of what testicles were, he dismounted.
A moment later, Stevie said it was time to catch the bee. I said, "Must you catch it? It's sitting right there on the floor. A true scientist would observe it in its ersatz natural environment instead of traumatizing it, placing it in a distinctly unnatural environment, albeit one that has been contoured and painted to resemble a natural environment--if that environment was a desert moon with plastic palm trees. Why don't you just watch it?" Or something to that effect.
In a gloriously surreal crossing of brain waves and conversational paths, Stevie answered,
"But I'm only going to jam his testicles for a little while!"
Living with kids--you can't make this shit up.
Stevie was in the kitchen, endlessly doodling detailed alien/Uruk-hai battle scenes with Sharpies on the one-sided paper I bring home from work. I was standing at the counter, doing something. Again with the memory problems. I heard a buzzing sound, looked to my left, and there it was--a bee-like creature (not a bee, not a wasp, but tubular with yellow/black stripes--what IS this thing?) and it was hovering in one spot. I mean not moving at all, except for the seemingly exhausting flapping of wings. I moved a touch to one side, it turned to look. I moved a step thataway, it turned to face me. I alerted Stevie and we watched, increasingly amused, as the bee-like creature watched me, probably amused him/herself. Finally, it landed on Stevie's chair (which he had vacated moments before) and Stevie decided to get his bug habitat (a hard-plastic container all done-up inside to resemble a bug-world; nice, but fakey--kinda like "natural" zoo habitats) and catch the little fella/gal.
Now Stevie is sitting on a barstool, bug habitat in hand. (The sham bee followed us into the living room and was taking a rest on the floor.) When I say Stevie was sitting on a barstool, I mean that he was sitting on top of the barstool--straddling the narrow ridge that was designed to cradle only the shoulder blades, not developing testes. Looking up long enough from my selfish pursuits to notice this precarious perch, I said, "That's a really good way to jam your testicles, Stevie." After a brief reminder of what testicles were, he dismounted.
A moment later, Stevie said it was time to catch the bee. I said, "Must you catch it? It's sitting right there on the floor. A true scientist would observe it in its ersatz natural environment instead of traumatizing it, placing it in a distinctly unnatural environment, albeit one that has been contoured and painted to resemble a natural environment--if that environment was a desert moon with plastic palm trees. Why don't you just watch it?" Or something to that effect.
In a gloriously surreal crossing of brain waves and conversational paths, Stevie answered,
"But I'm only going to jam his testicles for a little while!"
Living with kids--you can't make this shit up.
posted by lulu | 8:39 AM
2 Comments:
And one morning, when Gregor Samsa woke up, he discovered that he was NOT a cockroach after all, but a big, hovering bumblebee, and some humans were closely observing him while jamming his testicles on a little faux bar stool surrounded by little faux palm trees.
(to be continued)
My contribution is not so "gripping" or literary, but Sarah devised a "CEP OUT" (that's KEEP OUT) sign for her door yesterday.
L. and I wondered who she was keeping out and why. S. said that you could only come in if it was important--because it was her room--and she would be the one to decide if it was important or not.
So, we're getting teen-aged attitude at the tender young age of six? Hot Dog!
***
(As a partial amelioration, she did later make a CEP OUT sign for her parent's door but I doubt anyone will pay attention to it.)
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