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The Things and I had just finished fouling our neighbor's pool with our sweaty, dirt-caked selves (don't worry, they're on vacation and, like you, never read my blog), when the boy started smacking the ground with a lime green pool noodle.
"I'm hitting an ant. I'm hitting an ant. HAAAAAAAW!! HAAAAAAW!! WHOOOOO-HOOOOO-HOOOOO!!" he yells.
Have I mentioned before that he may be a little off?
Thing 1 then puts her "I'm The Boss of You" face on and starts laying into him. "You're hitting God! The Earth is God and your killing him."
Thing 2 yells. Louder.
"I'm killing God! I'm killing God! HAAAAAAAW!! HAAAAAAW!! WHOOOOO-HOOOOO-HOOOOO!!"
(Strange Interlude 1: "You stopped this, right? This isn't good.")
"No! NO! NOOO!" It's Thing 1. She stills the neighborhood with a contemplative look. Her arms are akimbo because you folks seem to really like it when I use that word.
"I'm wrong," she says. "You're killing Mother Nature, not God."
"I'm killing Mother Nature! HAAAAAAAW!! HAAAAAAW!! WHOOOOO-HOOOOO-HOOOOO!! I'm killing Mother Nature!"
(Strange Interlude 2: "What are you doing with these kids when I'm not here? Are they watching 'Nip/Tuck' while eating Sugar Smacks right out of the frickin' box?")
Under threat of no Disney Channel, the Things cease. We slosh our way back home.
Several hours later, I take my nightly pre-bedtime lounge next to Thing 1.
"So," I say to her, as this is how I transition when I both talk and write, "please define God for me."
"God is the earth."
"Then who or what is Mother Nature?"
"She's all the living things. Trees, grass, bugs … the sky is God, though."
"So, God is the earth. Then we walk all over God. No wonder we've been having all these thunderstorms. He's angry at us for stomping all over him."
"No, Dad. That's different."
(Strange Interlude 3: "How is that different? Don't you ever get below the surface? Is everything a sarcastic, snappy comeback to you?")
"Then who's the boss? God or Mother Nature?" I ask.
"God … because he's the man."
(Strange Interlude 4: Deathly silence. Crickets. Faint mournful music.)
"Wrong, wrong, wrong," I say. "And never, Never, NEVER repeat that in front of your mother. I want to share the bed with her again."
(Strange Interlude 5: "You didn't say that. Liar. You are in so much trouble.")
"Dad, is there a heaven?"
"Lots of people believe so. I hope so. I hate to think I'm trying this hard for nothing."
"Is there a dog heaven?"
"But where do bad dogs go."
"There are no bad dogs. Only bad dog owners."
"Where do bad people go?"
"But we're from Texas?"
"You and your brother are. I apologize about that. Some people believe in hell. You know. The Devil. Flames. Molten lava. Non-alcoholic beer."
"Are you going to hell?"
"After this conversation, possibly."
(Strange Interlude 6: "Damn straight.")
"No," I say. "I'm kidding. I hope I'm not going to hell. Do you have some inside information you want to share with me."
"You're a dork."
"That has been previously established. Bless you and your pointed little head. Good night. Dream of puppies."
Now, please go to Humor-Blogs.com before I am damned to hell.