It's spring break time in Florida. The streets are full of sunburned tourists, the grocer’s freezer section has been stripped of all microwavable convenience foods, and we're running low on booze...
Our economy is dependent on two things here: tourists and NASA. I love both, but it is disconcerting to run to the grocery store and find it wall-to-wall college students with carts packed with ramen noodles, microwave pizzas, and cases of beer. I just want to buy milk and eggs, people! Come on!
I’m afraid I get especially impatient when I’m on the highway, stuck behind a car with Ontario plates (or Wisconsin, or New York…) driving 10 miles below the speed limit. For goodness sake! The speed limit is 55, buddy! If we were on the beach road or driving through the wildlife refuge, I’d understand, but there are only dingy strip malls on this particular stretch of road.
On the other hand, there is nothing quite like watching people’s reactions the first time they see the ocean. They trudge from their cars, dragging their coolers and umbrella stands across the boardwalks protecting the dunes, and suddenly they stop in amazement. The ocean goes on forever, blending into the sky at the horizon. It takes my breath away too.
On the home front, T-ball has taken a turn for the crazy. I have always maintained that children’s sports are taken too seriously and haven’t wanted to expose the monsters to that. I deluded myself when it came to T-ball. I thought that a game that has no score, no strikes, and no outs couldn’t possibly become super competitive. Yeah, I was wrong.
Suddenly all the T-ball teams have to practice coach pitch, and during the games each batter gets five coach pitches before they drag out the T. Keep in mind that these teams are four to six year olds, and we still have to remind the kids to run to first base…
My boys are still having fun, and we’ll stay until that’s no longer true. Bubba was extremely proud at the last game to have caught a fly ball from first base. I didn't have the heart to remind him that it was his team’s ball and he was supposed to run to second.
I’ve made the Hairy One promise that we would switch to karate after baseball season and never look back.
So enough of my mad blatherings! I know you’re really here to see baby bunnies. These pictures were taken last Sunday when they were two weeks old. You can almost watch them grow.
Our economy is dependent on two things here: tourists and NASA. I love both, but it is disconcerting to run to the grocery store and find it wall-to-wall college students with carts packed with ramen noodles, microwave pizzas, and cases of beer. I just want to buy milk and eggs, people! Come on!
I’m afraid I get especially impatient when I’m on the highway, stuck behind a car with Ontario plates (or Wisconsin, or New York…) driving 10 miles below the speed limit. For goodness sake! The speed limit is 55, buddy! If we were on the beach road or driving through the wildlife refuge, I’d understand, but there are only dingy strip malls on this particular stretch of road.
On the other hand, there is nothing quite like watching people’s reactions the first time they see the ocean. They trudge from their cars, dragging their coolers and umbrella stands across the boardwalks protecting the dunes, and suddenly they stop in amazement. The ocean goes on forever, blending into the sky at the horizon. It takes my breath away too.
On the home front, T-ball has taken a turn for the crazy. I have always maintained that children’s sports are taken too seriously and haven’t wanted to expose the monsters to that. I deluded myself when it came to T-ball. I thought that a game that has no score, no strikes, and no outs couldn’t possibly become super competitive. Yeah, I was wrong.
Suddenly all the T-ball teams have to practice coach pitch, and during the games each batter gets five coach pitches before they drag out the T. Keep in mind that these teams are four to six year olds, and we still have to remind the kids to run to first base…
My boys are still having fun, and we’ll stay until that’s no longer true. Bubba was extremely proud at the last game to have caught a fly ball from first base. I didn't have the heart to remind him that it was his team’s ball and he was supposed to run to second.
I’ve made the Hairy One promise that we would switch to karate after baseball season and never look back.
So enough of my mad blatherings! I know you’re really here to see baby bunnies. These pictures were taken last Sunday when they were two weeks old. You can almost watch them grow.
A big pile of Awww
Look, Ma, I'm all grow'd up!
They’ve begun chasing Mama around, hoping for a meal. She has a baby-free shelf in her cage where she spends most of her time now. We have rabbit pellets mixed with oats (good for baby tummies) and crocks of water where the babies can reach them. They aren't very interested yet, but it won't be long!
Bunny Trance!
The bunny trance is one of the neatest things about rabbits. Under certain conditions, when a rabbit is placed on his back, he goes into a trance-like state, totally zoned out. It is utter bliss to have a bunny trance out on your lap!
More baby pictures can be found here.
One last thing: I promised Miss Fish that I would try chronicle all the funny things the monsters say. With the baby bunnies, I have had to tread a fine line between honestly answering the boys’ questions about the facts of life and having the sex talk with them.
Bubba had been pondering this mystery of life and asked, “Mom, where do baby bunnies come from?”
Me: “Um, what do you mean?” hoping to avoid the “when a mommy bunny and a daddy bunny love each other very much” speech.
“Where do baby bunnies come from?”
“Well, the mommy bunny and the daddy bunny…”
“No, Mom,” eye roll, “where do they come from?”
“Can you ask me the question with different words? I don’t understand what you mean.”
Bubba is quiet for a minute, deep in thought. “Oh, I know. The mommy bunny just poops the babies out of her penis.”
“What?!?!” holding back shrieks of laughter. “No, honey, mommies don’t have penises. Only boys and men have penises…”
“Oh, you mean your penis falls off when you have a baby?”
I had tears from suppressing my giggles. I did explain the differences between men and women (again) with a brief discussion about the womb and the birth canal. I tried to be somewhat vague without being confusing. I absolutely do not want another frantic teacher call followed by the “penis is not a bad word, but it is private” conversation again.
Knittyhead Blog Stalker 2:
The Re-Awakening
