Mood:
d'ohTopic: Tobey
After over a week on vacation - which included the van breaking down, Audrey getting the stomach flu, and our favorite kid attractions being closed for bad weather (snow and wind) - the thing I feel most compelled to blog is the Chipmunk Incident.
We were in Rocky Mountain National Park on one of the lake hikes. We came up on a recently-vacated picnic table, the crumbs of which were still being devoured by ground squirrels and chipmunks. Now I knew the rules about feeding wildlife, and I also knew the frequency in which we were seeing park rangers, so I *tried* to herd my brood quickly past the begging chipmunks. What does my mother do? She opens a bag of Cheetohs. "Here kids, feed 'em these." Nothing says "natural habitat" like a chipmunk carrying a big orange cheese-powdered stick.
Not surprisingly, the chipmunks were interested. To the point of swarming us. Suddenly, we were in a crowd of chipmunks desperate to ruin their natural diets. There was no keeping up with the buggers. One found its way onto Mom's shoe in a show for attention. Not one to recognize her own consequences, she huffed and scooted it off her shoe.
My three-year-old was watching. And I know full well what he does to our cat when she is clearly NOT begging for Cheetohs, or in fact is not doing much of anything but napping on a blanket. Tobey is a sweet, charming kid - the kind under the surface of which bubbles a cruel tormentor. He simply thrills in making animals, you know, ticked.
But it happened so fast that day at the lake trail. One minute, he was going "Here little baby chipmunk" and extending the Cheetoh in much the same kindly fashion as before he witnessed Grandma de-chipmunking her shoe. Before I could get to him, I saw the chipmunk trustingly approach. I saw Tobey's leg chamber back. And then I saw a whirl of brown fur cartwheeling backward, as Tobey's foot made contact with the chipmunk's jaw.
Let it be known that Tobey may have a career as a field goal kicker for the Green Bay Packers. This was no casual chipmunk flicking. The furry rodent was punted like a football. In another situation it would have been fairly impressive.
But. We were in a national park, and Tobey was abusing Mother Nature. All I could think was, "Great. We're THAT family." You know, the ones who bring their loudmouth destructive brats into the peaceful woods, thereby ruining everyone else's sense of calm beauty. That was us: Parents of the Chipmunk Kicker. We left in a hurry.
At the next hike, Tobey climbed on a field of boulders, dropped his pants and peed publicly while I attempted to run on loose rocks to stop him.
So now I have a new catch phrase (and it must be spoken while smacking Orbitz gum and bobbing my head): You Chipmunk Kicker.
