The Bean Scene

Let’s talk about beaners — a mythical creature created in the mind of Miss 6 and her playground comrades. It seems to have started during the first weeks of kindergarten. A discovery of pods with seeds in them occurred during recess (the fact that they cover our deck and have for some time not-with-standing). The seeds were carefully extracted. Special holes and beds of grass were made. And it took on a life from there.

I thought it had passed and that the beaners had faded into memory. But no. They reappeared this week in full force. When I picked up Miss 6 yesterday, she and her friend were in a panic trying to extract the beaners from coat pockets and such to make sure that the friend had them all before we left. The friend, Nanners, had been entrusted with them overnight and had to make sure she had all ga-gillion of them safely in hand. And needless to say, the small hand of a 6-year-old does not hold a ga-gillion beaners. Even as small and seedlike as they are. So much trauma ensued. Some beaners would not be able to go home with Nanners and jump on the trampoline. Some would be resigned to coming home to our boring old house. Until a compromise was struck. Lucky me and my current abnormally slow work schedule (calm before the storm?) meant I was more amenable to the beaners than usual and went along with the quickly hatched solution. Nanners’ mom drove ahead while Miss 6, Nanners, Beanie, and I walked — the stroller cup holder now filled with said beaners. And this is how my week has been. I was even regaled with a tale of woe — how some first grade boys ruined the beaner bed. “I think they were making fun of us,” explained Miss 6 in her infinite wisdom.

After much prying, I finally got more detail on the excitement surrounding these conjured beings. Apparently after making one of the elaborate beds, they returned the next day to find that one of the beaners had ‘hatched’ into a beetle. Magic. Incredible. Completely thrilling to a passel of 6-year-olds. The official name is now ‘burying beetles’ which sounds more like ‘bearing beetles’ (check your science books, folks, I’m certain they are listed ☺). Miss 6 has pronounced herself and her posse scientists. So I guess all is not lost.

The thing is, the beaners need baths. Or so I learned today. This took place in our bathroom sink and Miss 6 lost two down the drain before she realized it could be closed up. Tears ensued. “Mom? Where does the water go?” “Down the drain and into the pipes.” “And then where?” “To a bigger pipe under the street and then all the way to the treatment plant.” “Where is the treatment plant?” “On Marshal Road.” “Oh. Well can we pleeeaaassee go there? We need to save them!” Oh geez. Hubby to the rescue: “Well, no, because the water mixes with poop and they will be all yucky.” “Oh no! Poor little things! I can’t tell my friends I lost them in poop!” More tears. Beaners: 1. Parents: 0. We have so much to learn.

On tomorrow’s to-do list: find a container for the beaners that they can breathe in. I guess the Ziploc baggie is now a no-go. And I thought I was being so clever and helpful.

And I can’t fail to mention my attempt to return to REAL clothes today. Jeans. My largest pair. No problem except that the snap hits right at the main incision. Ouch. Okay, no real pants. It’s sweats and maternity leftovers for a while longer. At least until ALL of the steri-strips finally fall off. (I’ve only lost one of the four so far. Damn.)

TODAY’S THEME SONG: Big Time. Peter Gabriel. It just popped into my head. From whence I may never know.