So our terribly sweet, empty-nester neighbors-with-wanderlust recently lost their canine kennel hookup, which means that when they go out of town they hire the Big Kid to watch their two aging pups. They pay him a LOT of money for this, which I guess is justifiable in that (1) said pups are rather high-maintenance and (2) they end up saving money over what it would cost to kennel them somewhere else.
Our terribly sweet Big Kid "hires" his brother to help him, result being that the payout gets prorated between the two boys. Usually, each boy also gets a souvenir. The trip before this one was to Seattle, so BK got t-shirts with obscure Left Coast punk band and pirate radio station logos on them (he was in heaven), and LK got shark swag. Natch, because if you could describe LK in one hyphenated word, it might be "shark-obsessed."
This trip found our neighbors at Sea World, among other locales, and I expected that LK would receive more shark stuff, but our wise female neighbor (herself a boy mom) decided to throw him a curve: she bought him a manatee stuffed animal, and upon gifting it to him, she whispered into his ear: "It's time to develop a new obsession. I pick manatee."
THANK YOU, WISE FEMALE NEIGHBOR - and, also, umm, thanks?
On the one hand, I am as weary as anyone of the head-to-toe shark sleeping ensemble (okay, so I bought him the shark slippers, they were adorable and on sale), and the constant barrage of shark statistics. On the other hand, one can only see so many photos of cute manatee pups. Or, apparently, not, because every night the last several nights has gone something like this:
"Mom. MOM. Are you online? Okay, go to Google Images. Google "baby manatee." Now - click on that one. Okay, enlarge it. Go to that site. GO TO THAT SITE. LOOK AT IT. It's perfectly round. Isn't it cute? Okay, go back. OH! Click on that one."
Aaaaaaaaaaaand repeat. Ad nauseam.
On the bright side, it appears that manatee-themed television programming is somewhat limited. Our DVR, groaning under the weight of HOURS of shark shows, no doubt is appreciative.
With my luck, though, Animal Planet is already hard at work on plans for the first inaugural Manatee Week.
Initially, the plush manatee was named Max - because all animals, live and replicant, in our house seem to end up being named Max, or Apollo, or Batman. (Don't ask.) I suggested Hugh, and got an eye roll. Then Spouse suggested Hugh, and suddenly Max was Hugh - actually, Hugh Max. Hugh Max Manatee.
(Middle names are also a thing around here.)
Having endured umpteen viewings of the Veggie Tales "Endangered Love" skit when the Big Kid was a toddler, I choose to think of him as a her. She is Barbara, and she just learned French, and she desperately wants Bill to take her to the ball.
And if none of that makes sense to you, then obviously you do not own a copy of The Ultimate Silly Song Countdown on original VHS. I would be happy to lend you ours.
Barbara Manatee (Manatee! Manatee!), you are the one for meeeeeeee . . . .
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