Thursday, October 18, 2007

Jumping beans don't always jump when you want them to

Hubby returned tonight from his business trip to Tucson. As he flew in he saw a cow, a woman riding her bike with a dog in the basket and some fishermen rowing a boat in the swirling clouds.

As I went to fetch him from the office, I heard the tornado siren go off. We live in the western side of this huge county and I believe the warning was actually in the eastern side of the county.

He was tired and none-the-worse-for-wear.

He came home bearing gifts for the granddaughter---a nice t-shirt with three funky lizards and Arizona on the front, and a little box of Jumping Beans. (I didn't say Mexican because I'm not sure whether that is politically correct or whether I should have called them Latino jumping beans).

We all sat in the living room with a bean in our hands trying to warm them up so they would dance and entertain the little munchkin. She has about the same amount of patience that I do. She would go from person to person touching the beans, picking them up and admonishing them to jump.

"Jump, bean, jump" she would say, as if by commanding it would happen.

Soon enough, they began to move and she was totally unimpressed with the beans.

However she did want to wear the "Lizard, Lizard, Lizard" t-shirt for pajamas.

Good job, Paypooh!


Jumping Bean update:
I woke up in the middle of the night and went downstairs to watch Law and Order.

I heard a noise.

I thought it was the tree hitting the house outside in the wind so I shut the window.

The noise continued.

It was coming from my purse.

Click, click, tap, tap.

It was those damn beans having a party.