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Springtime. And Art.

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The wild, parasitic rabbit population in the neighborhood has exploded, and I’m itching my nose like a downtown junkie. The grass is already fading to a golden brown, and I’ve pulled out the extra strength deodorant. Yes friends, that must mean it’s springtime (springtime in Texas means 90 degrees)!!

Hi! I'm fuzzy and cute and I make dogs go completely ape-shit and try to tunnel right through sliding glass doors. And I'm coming soon, to a neighborhood near you...

Judging from the artwork that’s coming home lately, the teachers are not immune to the allure of the season. The project that came home the other day was quite surprising. It’s a model. The shaft is about 12 inches long (quite big!), and the tip was formed by using an inverted Dixie cup. There’s a round appendage attached on each side of the shaft, and they’re rather wrinkly. It’s a rather meaty, sturdy piece, and quite impressive to hold in your hand. Connor was very excited to show off his piece of art.

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It's a rocket. What were you thinking??? Perv.

Today another model came home. A giant, blue ball. The kids were assigned planets to create using papier-mache, which they applied over a balloon.

Know which planet Connor was assigned? Uranus. Go ahead, say it. Yer anus. I suppose it almost made sense to pair Uranus with the giant, blue-tipped shaft. But honestly, I thought long and hard about Uranus, and longed for a model of Pluto or Neptune.

Yep, that's Uranus.

I’ll bet you didn’t know Uranus was blue, did you? I always thought of Uranus as milky-white, but I guess not. Uranus is blue.

At first I had the impression that the teacher was sending us a message, having Connor make a phallic-looking rocket, and then assigning him Uranus for an art project. But it seems in the interest of avoiding childish, brash humor, they have changed the pronunciation of Uranus to “yer-a-nuss”. At least that’s how Connor is pronouncing it. So perhaps there is no hidden message in assigning “yer-a-nuss” on top of a giant rocket assignment.

Maybe if they taught children the ancient Greek myth that explains that Uranus was the husband of Mother Earth, who were the parents of the first generation of Titans, then they wouldn’t belittle the name in such a crass way, and there’d be no need to change the way it’s pronounced.  Nah, who am I kidding, it’s just too easy to make fun of that planet.

Either way, the pronunciation has been changed, and we now have a giant shaft and blue ball on display.

Springtime…and first grade art, gotta love it.

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Angry Birds, Level Two

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Several of you asked what happened yesterday, after the mighty bird siege that happened over the weekend.

Dear Angry Birds:

Yesterday morning when I left for the day, with my son and the dog, I was very disappointed to see your baby bird, once again, roosting in the middle of my driveway.  I’m sure you couldn’t help but notice that we were, once again, armed with tennis rackets.  My son, being adventurous, was happy to oblige by “covering me” while I got the dog into the car.

When I arrived home after work, I was pleased to see that, sometime during the day, you sought out more appropriate accommodations for your offspring.  I did not see your baby bird in the driveway, bushes, nor on the front porch.  We really appreciate that since my husband had to carry in a 65-pound sedated dog.

Last night, after our other dog’s final trip to the “privy”, we were surprised to see her at the back door, dancing wildly and wriggling like a belly dancer on meth.  We opened the door, and there was your dead baby bird at her feet.

So…yes.  Yes, a dingo DID eat your baby.  Looks like you chose badly.

Game over.  Better luck next spring, bitches.

Warmest regards and a big FUCK YOU,

Flannery

No, there are no dead baby bird pictures.  You’re welcome.  Although hubs did ask me, when he scooped it into the Target bag, if I wanted a picture for my blog.  I acted like the idea was beneath me.  It wasn’t.  I secretly wished I had taken a picture.

Happy Springtime!

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