mama says om: saunter
I've always believed that there must have been a reason God thought I could handle being the mother of three boys. Maybe I'm tougher than average women? After all, I'm not afraid of spiders, I love the outdoors, my previous pets have included frogs and turtles. I can handle whatever these people dish out, right? Wrong.
Last night, our cat apparently had some fun and caught one of the wild baby bunnies that lives around here. The evidence of the kill was left on our driveway and my husband was sweet enough to clean it up on his way out the door to work. He almost got all of it. But almost is not quite enough.
Later in the morning my middle boy was hanging out in the front yard when he spotted something in the grass. An ear. And worse than that, an eye.
As a little girl, if I had seen anything like that, I would have cried and cried over the poor bunny and the pain he went through. I would have had a bunny funeral. But not my boy. Oh no. After asking me to pick it up for him, and having me vehemently refuse, he sauntered into the house, retrieved a zip-lock baggie and deposited the marble-like, bluish ball into it.
Excuse me for a moment while I gag from recounting these horrific events.
Okay. So that wasn't all. It had a stem.
I covered my eyes and ordered him to get. it. away. from. me.
Of course, my reaction alerted him to the potential for fun he could have with the bunny eye. I saw the twinkle in his eyes and so I ran into the bathroom and locked the door. A moment later the eye was pushed under the door by a grimy little hand and accompanied by the maniacal laughter of a four year-old on the other side. And the eye was looking at me.
And it gets worse.
His brother, curious about what was going on, squeezed his hand under the door to try to grab it and started squishing it against the floor. I was on the phone with my husband begging for help. But since he works 10 miles away and seems to think his job is more important than my sanity, he was of no use to me.
I finally gathered myself and exited the bathroom with what little pride I had left. I informed him that if he wanted to keep the eye, it must remain out of my sight. If I even caught a glimpse of it, it would be gone. Although I knew I could never actually touch the baggie with the bunny eye in order to get it away from him, he didn't call my bluff and the eye is now out of sight (excuse the pun).
I'm still a little shaken that my sweet little boy who still coos to his stuffed animals would want a real bunny eye in a bag to stare at and squish. I guess I need to finish up the Wonder of Boys book I'm reading to figure him out...
For other mamas on saunter, check out mama says om
Last night, our cat apparently had some fun and caught one of the wild baby bunnies that lives around here. The evidence of the kill was left on our driveway and my husband was sweet enough to clean it up on his way out the door to work. He almost got all of it. But almost is not quite enough.
Later in the morning my middle boy was hanging out in the front yard when he spotted something in the grass. An ear. And worse than that, an eye.
As a little girl, if I had seen anything like that, I would have cried and cried over the poor bunny and the pain he went through. I would have had a bunny funeral. But not my boy. Oh no. After asking me to pick it up for him, and having me vehemently refuse, he sauntered into the house, retrieved a zip-lock baggie and deposited the marble-like, bluish ball into it.
Excuse me for a moment while I gag from recounting these horrific events.
Okay. So that wasn't all. It had a stem.
I covered my eyes and ordered him to get. it. away. from. me.
Of course, my reaction alerted him to the potential for fun he could have with the bunny eye. I saw the twinkle in his eyes and so I ran into the bathroom and locked the door. A moment later the eye was pushed under the door by a grimy little hand and accompanied by the maniacal laughter of a four year-old on the other side. And the eye was looking at me.
And it gets worse.
His brother, curious about what was going on, squeezed his hand under the door to try to grab it and started squishing it against the floor. I was on the phone with my husband begging for help. But since he works 10 miles away and seems to think his job is more important than my sanity, he was of no use to me.
I finally gathered myself and exited the bathroom with what little pride I had left. I informed him that if he wanted to keep the eye, it must remain out of my sight. If I even caught a glimpse of it, it would be gone. Although I knew I could never actually touch the baggie with the bunny eye in order to get it away from him, he didn't call my bluff and the eye is now out of sight (excuse the pun).
I'm still a little shaken that my sweet little boy who still coos to his stuffed animals would want a real bunny eye in a bag to stare at and squish. I guess I need to finish up the Wonder of Boys book I'm reading to figure him out...
For other mamas on saunter, check out mama says om
posted by Nicole | 2:56 PM
6 Comments:
OHMYGOSH! OHMYGOSH! You are a LEGEND.
I ... don't even know what to say. You.....uh.......trumped my snake for sure ;)
I cackled as I read this, then threw up a little in my mouth.
I am with Lisabell, I barfed in my mouth. You are some kind of woman I about barf at just the thought of some of the food mixing on my plate. Yum!
Ok, Bunny eyeballs, yuckadoo!!! My email is Amandasunshowers@hotmail.com for the painting.
Whoa, bleah. HAD to read this right before lunch, right?
In my family of origin, when my dad accidentally ran over the bunny nest w/ the lawn mower, it was somehow MY job (I think I was about eight) to clean up the aftereffects.
Don't remember much about it, thankfully.
And have since learned the trick of averting my eyes well in advance of passing any highway carnage, driving w/ my peripheral vision to prevent the specifics from searing themselves onto my retina.
So far, no overt fascination with gore on the part of the resident boy. (Key words may be "so far.")
You poor thing.
Ohmygosh,ohmygosh,ohmygosh! I would have thrown up for sure when he started squishing in on the floor!
I have been known to call friends' husbands to come remove dead carcasses and ginormous spiders from my house when The Hubster couldn't get here.
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home