Monday, December 7, 2015

Travel Brochure by Tiny Pants



Image: masoncounty.lib.wv.us



Tiny Pants had to make a travel brochure for school this weekend. It was supposed to be about his home town, but it did allow for “any other place” or something. Tiny chose West Virginia. 

I felt this was a bit of an odd choice, since we live in Ohio, and he travels frequently to both Florida and Illinois.  Yes, I go to school in West Virginia, but Tiny has only been there once. 

Mama:  Why West Virginia? 
Tiny Pants:  It’s the only state I can draw.

Well, that clears up one mystery. 

His brochure proclaims: Wet, Wet, Wet, West Virginia. 

Mama: West Virginia is wet?
Tiny Pants: Yes.
Mama:  Are you sure?
Tiny Pants: Yes. 
Mama: You aren’t thinking, Wild, Wonderful West Virginia?
Tiny Pants: It’s wet, Mama.  Wet like a hurricane.
Mama:  Hurricane?
Tiny Pants: Yes. 
Mama:  Are you sure?
Tiny Pants: Yes. 


I kind of think this homework was for Social Studies, not Art and Imagination. But, you know, maybe he knows something I don’t. I’m not in the mood to argue. For all my friends in WV, to be on the safe side, I recommend you buy an umbrella. 

Saturday, December 5, 2015

Oh, Santa, I'm Sorry.



I took Big Pants and Tiny Pants downtown to see Santa, as I do every year. We take the train (which is quite possibly slower than driving, but more fun) but I messed with tradition just a little to take use a different station. The new one was closer, however it did smell like pee on the first floor and patchouli on the second floor. Big Pants voiced that in the decision of weird odor versus shorter drive I chose poorly, and I believe he made a valid point. 

I watched the children closely, because I have a feeling that this is the last year my kids will both still "believe." Tiny Pants wanted to know if the Santa we saw was an elf from the North Pole (my excuse for how Santa is in every mall across the country on the same day) or just a grown up in a costume. I asked him what he thought because I am the queen of avoiding difficult questions.  Big Pants was quick to interject a theory about oversized elves that seemed well thought-out and plausible. Big Pants, who is old enough to hate being called Big Pants, still finds Santa completely rational. As I type this, he is working on a science fair project involving the laminar flow of air and other principles of physics I really only halfway follow, yet he blindly accepts Santa. 

I’m starting to worry just a little that I’ve let it go on too long. At what point do I say something? Or, is it possible that he knows full well about Santa and is just trying not to disappoint me? 

Nope. Big Pants was a little awed by Santa. He was a bit intimidated to say what he really wanted for Christmas, but I gave him a nudge and he told Santa that he really wanted for Christmas - a DNA test. 

I’m not sure Santa understood that Big Pants wanted to learn whether his relatives really came from Germany as they claim, or if they are, as he suspects, Secret Lithuanians. Santa looked at me like perhaps I wasn’t a very choosy mom. 


Luckily, when Tiny Pants was reading his list to Santa, he substituted “real-looking rabbit stuffed animal” for “taxidermy rabbit” as he had written down. I’m not sure he could have handled DNA tests and dead animals in the same photo session. 

Wednesday, December 2, 2015

Tiny Pants Makes an Unexpected Request For Christmas

I haven’t been posting here that much lately, mainly because I am not all that funny, and as the kids get older, they stubbornly refuse to provide me with free material. But every now and then, they still give me something worth sharing. 

Tiny Pants is making his Christmas list, because all he wants to do is shop and he’s making me crazy, so I told him to write Santa and stop bothering me. (I’m good at parenting like that.) 

So on his list there are a bunch of regular toy-type items that one would expect. But then we came to the One Thing He Wants Most of All. 

Tiny Pants:  Mama, can we get a live rabbit?
Mama: No. 
Tiny Pants: What do you call an animal that died and they stuff them?
Mama: Taxidermy?
Tiny Pants: Yeah, that’s it. That’s what I want most of all. A taxidermied rabbit. Can I google them?
Mama: Uh, yeah.
 (I was sitting next to him to make sure he didn't get anything to gruesome, for the record.)

Tiny then copied and pasted an image into his Christmas list, but he isn't exactly a pro at resizing, so the image is now stretched and flattened in a most unappealing way. 

I’ll have to let you know what Santa says when we visit him on Saturday. 



Footnote: At his age I did have a taxidermied squirrel I slept with every night, until I unwisely left it in my church school classroom and the janitor threw it away. I have to admit he comes by his weirdness honestly. 




P.S. Bonus points go to anyone who can explain why taxidermied is not a real word.