Chooch and I took a walk around the neighborhood this morning. There were some pine cones scattered along the sidewalk in front of a house up on the corner and Chooch was inspired to collect five of his favorites to join us on our stroll. He carried two and I was stuck carrying the other three, which were prickly and sharp and I really wanted to chuck them into a sewer grate, but Chooch kept checking my fist to make sure they were still in there. He knows me too well.
On the way back, he recognized the pine cone-strewn corner immediately and climbed up a slight slope in the yard and plopped himself down under the pine tree, which he soon realized was a cone treasure trove. While he was maniacally harvesting pine cones like they were organs he couldn’t live without, I took a seat next to him.
And then I screamed. Screamed like I was being filleted by a native in the jungle. Screamed like I was seeing Michael Jackson’s penis darting in and out of a hole in the wall. This is the part where I screamed like an asshole, in case you couldn’t tell. Perhaps you heard me.
"Why are there tiny swords slashing my flesh!?!" That’s what I screamed, in case you were wondering. Probably someone else’s child would have looked at me in fear, possibly soiled themselves too, but Chooch is immune to my overreactions and continued piling dirt and moss into tiny mounds.
So it turns out Satan hadn’t sent an army of horned elves to siphon my blood like I originally thought, but that I had sat on a blanket of sharp pine needles. I mean, these fuckers were lethal, like I could probably give Henry a surprise sex change with one, or finally re-pierce my ears like I’ve been talking about for the past two years. I had to pluck some of them from my palms and brush the rest from my ass. Where is my tuffet when I need it? I glared at Chooch who was protected from pain by his diaper padding. Must be nice. Except for the wallowing in piss and shit part.
Nature Time was over for me at that point, so I dragged Chooch back home against his will. Not before turning around to retrieve the five original pine cones at Chooch’s (very loud) insistence. Back at home, I panicked because the sites of the needle-pricks began to burn and sear. I was about to Google "pine tree poison" to see what grisly demise was in store for me, but then Chooch and I became distracted by "Bringing Home Baby" and I forgot — UNTIL NOW — all about the fact that I’m probably dying a slow death from nature-venom.
: Being a mom means carrying shit. I learned that really quick.
: Being a mom means lugging a bucking and wailing child back home while trying to avoid his big hard head from slamming into your nose.
the worst part is-
he probably knew exactly what he was doing.
pine trees aren’t poison.
i’m a piney, so i know.
what does that mean? because you’re from new jersey?
i can’t stop listening to “light up the night.” UGH.
“: Being a mom means lugging a bucking and wailing child back home while trying to avoid his big hard head from slamming into your nose.”
I broke my mom’s nose when I was like two doing this bucking thing. The poor girl was just trying to put my swim suit on so we could go to the pool. She was not successful at avoiding my big fat head, but hopefully you will be with Chooch.
Janna, you’re a BITCH! Goddamn. I can’t believe your mom still considers you a DAUGHTER.
All I know is that I flinch every time Chooch walks past me. He’s a brute.
I agree, fuck nature. She’s a whore! (I stepped in dog shit walking my dog yesterday and while thats not directly nature’s fault, somehow it is).
We will find a way to pin it on Nature! That slut!
The thought of Riley just meandering around collecting pine cones makes me smile. Did the pine pitch on his hands bug him?
It didn’t seem to bug him until later when he tried SNACKING on one! Ugh!
Dude, don’t ever visit Arizona. There are cacti called “teddy bear cactus” that are also referred to as “jumping cactus” and they suck ass.