the old gray goose

While I was working in the kitchen yesterday morning, baking the rest of the leftover turkey into pastry pouches so I could toss them in the freezer and have a dozen ready-meals for the coming winter, the kids were busy playing. They started in the living room, turning all of their stuffed animals and puppets into Pokemon (Pokemons? Pokemen? Pokemi?) with varying powers. ("This is Junior! He's a Companion Bird Pokemon! His power is pecking! His defense is flight!" "This is Killer Ground Hog! He's a Ground Hog Pokemon! His power is Killing!", etc) The game eventually drifted down the hall to the bedrooms, and for awhile I lost track of the story line.

Eventually they both came running back down the hall. Still playing, Zoo Boy said "Uh oh. Who's going to tell Aunt Rhoadie?" They debated for a moment then Zoo Boy said "Ok, I'll do it." Pause. "Aunt Rhoadie?" "Yes?" answered J in his best old-woman voice. "The old gray goose is dead," said Zoo Boy, with a very matter-of-fact tone. "Oh dear, that's just too unbearable," replied Aunt Rhoadie-J. J then picked up his harmonica (pictured here) and played a very mournful version of "Go Tell Aunt Rhoadie".

Here's a photo of the instruction booklet that J has been using this week to teach himself how to play the Harmonica. He's got quite a repertoire going, including, as you may have guessed, "Go Tell Aunt Rhoadie".

I suppose I could just leave the story at that, with a touching tribute to an imaginary dead goose. But lest you think that I'm managing to raise sensitive, thoughtful boys, I feel I need to tell the rest of the story....

After an appropriately respectful moment of silence when the song ended, Zoo Boy said "Well, it's dead. Let's go see what else we can kill!" And the boys ran gleefully down the hall. So much for sensitivity!