What next?

Hello.

Kid came home from kindergarten today bursting with the news: they had done something gruesome and violent and disgusting in class today.

Oh yeah. Sounds like another day, I thought to myself.

Ah, but I was wrong. Very, very wrong.

(Cue insane laughter.)

This was the day in which 25 five-year-old hygiene-challenged midgets were to don workgloves and break apart owl pellets to see what the lovely birds had horked up.

Bones, it turns out, was what the vomit nuggets contained. Eyeballs, apparently. Skulls. Chipped. Done violence to with sharp beaks and talons.

And then the children were asked to glue the bones onto a piece of paper. Some kind of diarama of death, I imagine, although this remains to be seen. Perhaps it will turn out to be part of a nineteenth-century corset project. Viking rowboats. Snakes and ladders. The double helix.

And then they were released into the domestic realm, with no warning, into the arms of their innocent mothers, some of whom, as you know, are balancing on the very keenest blade of sanity.

And some of those mothers might have imagined that tonight's dinner would be unlikely to feature the following gems:

There's no way I'm eating this. It looks like an owl pellet.

Mommy, did you choke this up from your gizzard?

Are you sure?

Is that a frog skull?

How can I tell that that is a piece of onion and not a frog skull?

There's no way I'm eating that. It looks like a mouse pelt puked up by an owl's gizzard.

That doesn't look like bread to me. It totally looks like something you would see if you broke apart an owl pellet and there were bones and skulls and feathers and fur.

When owls puke up a pellet they have this look on their face like they're having a really big poo and it's not going too well.

I can't remember if I washed my hands since I was scrapping through the owl pellet, which got puked out by an owl and is full of bones and skulls and feathers and fur.

Next time the dog barfs can I scrap through it to see what he ate?

There's no way I'm eating any of this.


What ever happened to the days of making modernist papasans out of styrofoam egg cartons? Of painting rocks that say I LOVE MOMMY? Of learning to tie your shoes? (Hello, we could use some HELP with that.)

I'm going to need a stronger prescription of everything.




Head here to scrap through your own owl pellet.