The spawn are indoor kids, no doubt about it. If they had their druthers, they'd cower in darkened, drapes-drawn rooms like naked mole rats and would hiss if the sun ever hit their pink eyes and lanugo-covered wrinkly skin. But it was so fucking beautiful out today that I felt obligated to force them into the light. So, instead of driving to pick them up after school, I walked and brought along their scooters and helmets. Surprisingly, they didn't seem to mind, and actually seemed to enjoy the 900 hours it took to walk back home.
Once home, though, they were ready for some indoor time. But fuck that shit -- I've been cooped up in that fucking dungeon all goddamn winter and I need me some serious sunnage, so out we went. I tried to engage them in some vaguely sporty pursuits -- throwing shit back and forth and all that jock crap, but who the shit was I kidding... we're just not the sportin' kind -- our playing field is "the mind."
Then I realized that I've been meaning to put in a second elevated garden bed, and it seemed like the ground was soft enough to start digging so, digging it was to be. I knew I had to sell it the right way to the spawnage, though, or they'd never buy it. So, I gave them both a couple of little shovels and asked them to dig up as many worms as they could. GENIUS! Not only did they take to it like pigs to... whatever it is that pigs take to (their own corn-studded turds?)... but they decided that they were going to open a worm-themed restaurant. Before long, Miss O was doing the digging and Mr. Z was scribbling away in his notebook. Here's one of the pages I happened to swipe:
Wormworks... I like it. Hell, I think the place has potential. There's gotta be some serious minerals and shit in worm meat. It seems pretty lean for all the health-conscious folk, and I've got assloads of the fuckers just crawling around in my backyard.
I may just get to retire early yet.