My son has a love affair with pine cones. Don’t ask me why. For months now, whenever we go for walks or to a park, if there are pine cones about, he sets about hoarding them. It’s odd.
As such, I have pine cones now in my living room among the toys. I have pine cones on my kitchen window sill, decorated with paint, pipe-cleaners, and googly eyes. We have a pile in the “trunk” of his tricycle, just waiting to be put to good use. I don’t understand it, but I’ve been ok with it. Until this morning.
For those of you who have never paid close attention to pine cones, they shed these seeds on single “wings.” Obviously I’m no botanist, but as I recall from a paleoecology class I took which was heavy on fossilized pollen and spores, pine seeds tended to be large and require help in dispersing. The result, quite frankly, looks vaguely roach-like.
This morning, I heard my son having a conversation with himself about “PINE CONES!” and mommy’s “HOT COFFEE!” The kid converses with himself constantly, so I wasn’t paying much attention. Then I saw this:
WTF, son?! Are you trying to give your mother a heart attack?!
Pine cones are evermore banned from my house.