Tuesday, September 2, 2008

Frijoles Estúpidos

Mexican Jumping Beans.
I think they must be a rite of passage of sorts. I mean, who among us has not owned and marveled at the little plastic box of inexplicably hopping bean fragments?

I had them as a child. I lost them as a child.

Logic dictates then that I should have seen what was coming when my brother handed Anna her very first tiny plastic box of Mexican Jumping Beans. Of course, she was immediately madly in love with the little mysterious critters, and insisted on taking them everywhere with her.

Therein lies our problem.

Apparently Mexican Jumping Beans are great cuddly bedtime companions too, did you know? Yeah. Me either. But apparently somewhere in the mind of a four year-old they are the ultimate in bedtime companions.

(I just hope I can convince her of this when she's a teenager. Who needs boys!?)

And... who needs sleep?
Apparently not me. Said four year-old thought nothing of waking me at 4am screaming "MINE BEANS! MINE JUMPING BEANS ARE LOST, MOMMY!"


Luckily the little buggers are rather loud and obnoxious for such little beasts. *Click Click Click Click*

Thankfully they were only under her pillow. With my two year-old's habit of ingesting virtually anything in her path, it's a wonder she's not *Clicking* as we speak.


  1. I think I will always remember this story! Nothing like the beans that jump to fascinate a child (and adult).
    Love your writings!

    Your brother,

  2. mental note: never let Mercy have jumping beans.