STUPID BIRDS

First, it is not my intention to insult real, live birds. I adore birds. I cherish the wildbirds I see (and we feed) outside my home office window almost every day of my grateful life. I also don’t mean to offend anyone who loves and/or raises real pigs. Or the Piggy Pjs’ Gals. Or Miss Piggy. Lord knows TLC loves her some bacon, too. Actually, when I was eighteen, I had a pig named Napoleon. My parents had moved to the country from the Dallas/Ft. Worth Metroplex. Napoleon got humongous and lived for several years. He was a good pig. I’m talking about those completely rude and ridiculous little birds and pigs on Angry Birds. I’ll get back to them in a bit.

Second, I want to apologize for using the word “stupid.” A week ago yesterday, our 3 ½ year-old grandson, Cutie-Pie, and our son arrived from the Big Metropolis of Houston, to stay with us two nights/three days. (To say we were in Grandparent Heaven is an understatement.) It was sunny, but breezy and a bit chilly in the country that afternoon. Our son forgot to bring a jacket for Cutie-Pie (it's always warmer in Houston than five hours north), so we headed to town—to Wally World—to find one. On the way, I sat in the backseat of Pa-Dad's truck with our little fella. Looking out the window at the cows, horses, llamas (Cutie-Pie was also searching for some “blue elephants”) I said, for the first of three times during their visit, the word “stupid.” Something like: “Those stupid people who think they have to drive so fast on this highway make Grammy cRaZy.” An impatient person behind us, on the two-lane, had decided My Hubby’s speed of 72 mph wasn’t fast enough. Mr. Nascar had passed us in an illegal and dangerous way. Evidently he was unaware we had Precious Cargo On Board.

Cutie-Pie immediately looked at me, with his major-big-brown-charming eyes, and firmly stated, in sincere shock: “Grammy, you said a BAD word.” Suddenly, I was 3 ½ and my Mom was telling ME to NEVER use the word “stupid”—especially as a description of my younger brother and sister. I felt ashamed. Completely embarrassed. I quickly and profusely apologized to Cutie-Pie, thanking him for reminding me that he was exactly right: stupid was not a nice word. I said: “I should never use that word, Cutie. Or shutup either.” He nodded his angelic little head. And forgave me.

Confession: He caught me saying “stupid” two more times before they headed back home. In my defense, I wasn’t talking to him either time. I wasn’t even in the same room with him. Technically, I was speaking, in almost a whisper, to TLC, who had driven from her home on Saturday to see her brother and nephew (spending the night with us for a second weekend in a row—which Grammy loves!). I had no idea Cutie-Pie was listening or could hear me. He has exceptionally good ears, that one. I apologized. Again. And again. He continued to forgive Grammy. Yes, I was and am ashamed. 

Cutie-Pie really understands how to use an iPad. Wowzer. I must be totally honest and admit I took full advantage of his amazing technological/game-playing abilities/skills on Saturday afternoon.

We’d been on a long walk to the gate—and a ride on the Ranger around the tanks. We'd fed the catfish. Cutie-Pie, Pa-Dad, Aunt TLC, Grammy and Teddy Buddy Boo Bear had had a BIG time. We were resting and Cutie was sitting by me on the couch. He was on his Dad’s iPad. I was checking my phone to see if any of my Words With Friends opponents had recently made a play (TLC being one of those peeps—one of those who likes to play a word every five to six days—thanks, Sugar). Suddenly, it hit me.

ELC: Cutie-Pie, could you teach Grammy how to play Angry Birds? (I've tried several times, on my own, to figure that insanity out. To no avail.)

CUTIE-PIE: Sure, Grammy! I show you.

At which point, he took my phone, hit the Angry Birds icon, and started playing. Knocking those pesky pigs into the next century with those annoying little red, blue and yellow birds. He was focused. He was fast. He was confident. And extremely successful. He was at Level 6 when his Dad said: “Please give Grammy her phone back and show her what to do.”

Cutie worked with me for a few minutes and then decided I had the general idea. He talked his Dad into helping him download Angry Birds Rio onto their iPad (which needed charging). Our son then set him up in our guest room so he could play the game. I sat on the bed, watching him, but he never knew I was there. Even when I was taking pictures. He didn’t look up once. Not until Aunt TLC (who he yikes--ayot!) came in and told him we were going out to dinner. It was time to come to a stopping point.

Bless his little heart.

His love for Angry Birds knows no bounds.

He's more than willing to play by a trash can.

Look at his yittle "yambie"--awww...

From that moment on and until this past Thursday night, I periodically picked up my phone and tried to get to Level 4 (6 is clearly an unattainable dream for moi) on that STUPID Angry Birds game. I watched those smart-alecky little birds NOT knock down those mean little pigs, who smiled and laughed at me, jumping with joy each time I missed them, until I thought I might throw my phone into the above lovely trash can pictured with Cutie (yes, I’m lacking that discerning “eye for detail” in photos—sorry). I’d had it. I uninstalled the AB app. Done. And done. Surely I have better things to do with my time. Right? I could go on-line and read the Piggy Lounge blog—which I treasure. Or I could start a new game of Words With Friends (10 on-going games don’t seem like enough, do they?). Or I could literally sit on my great-grandmother's rocking chair and twiddle my thumbs. Take a nap. Catch up on my DVRd Dr. Oz shows (I’m at my self-imposed limit of 10 and can’t record any new ones until I get rid of at least one). Anything. Seriously.

I’ve also sworn (maybe I should say promised?) to myself I’ll work exceptionally hard at not saying BAD words in front of our grandchildren. Or anyone, for that matter. Because it’s simply wrong. And stupid. I must learn to shutup.

ttfn, Happy Friends . . .