Long-time readers know two facts about life at Chez Green Girl:
1) we live on about 60 acres, mostly uncultivated space for running wild and free in nature
2) we have imaginations that also run wild and free.
Bearing these facts in mind, none of you should be too shocked by the story I'm about to divulge.
Mr. B and Mr. G are in a Saturday morning flag football league that takes place on Happyland Elementary's playground, adjacent to our property. Mr. G's league plays first, and afterwards he and a bunch of his cronies amuse themselves running around the trails and in the woods on our property while their older brothers play in Mr. B's league. Mr. T participates, but his main job is to keep a bunch of 1st grade boys out of my house while I watch Mr. B play. There's really nothing to get hurt on or get in trouble with--it's nature. They shout, run and shoot Nerf guns, general boy fun.The worst thing I've seen come out of their Saturday morning romps is their clothes--muddy and full of brambles and burrs. In my world, that's okay because Saturdays are for getting messed up while playing outside. I don't ask too many questions because I feel pretty strongly about letting kids have freedom to creatively play without a bunch of nosy grown ups bugging them about it.
Cue to a couple weekends ago when a buddy asked Mr. G to go home with him for a play date after flag football. Off he went, I returned home to finish washing dishes for 10 minutes before returning to the field to watch Mr. B play his game. The doorbell rang and I answered it--to discover a posse of boys on my front porch wanting Mr. G.
Aw, guys, I'm sorry--he went over to M's today after the game. You'll have to come over and play next week.
What about your other son?
He's busy playing football right now.
What about your other son--the oldest?
He's got some Boy Scout stuff going on today. Gosh, guys, I'm really sorry.
But we want to hunt for the yeti in your woods.
Ah. The yeti. That's trademark Team Testosterone--making up a storyline to add to their adventures in the woods. And that explains what they're doing every Saturday--and why the ranks of boys back there each week keeps increasing.
Yeah, we need to hunt for him and Mr. G knows where to go. We've seen his tracks.
Is it true that Mr. B has seen the yeti 10 times?
Ummm...is that what they told you? These kids know my sons are making this up, right?
Is it true that he's been living back there for a hundred years?
That seems to be the story... Part of me wants to perpetuate the myth and verify Team Testosterone's story, but I'm starting to worry that these kids are pretty gullible.
Is it true there was once a bear back in your woods?
Well, our neighbor thought so--he saw some scat.
Is there really a secret hideout where the yeti lives?
Is it true that the yeti is 8 feet tall?
Then one boy lowers his voice and looks at me with solemn eyes. Is it true that you had another son and when he was a baby he wandered into the woods and the yeti ate him?
I can't help laughing. Oh, honey, you know my boys are just making that up. Right? RIGHT?
We'll be back next week. Mr. G will be here, right? Then we can hunt for the yeti again.
And they were.
What really tickled me is when another mother told me how much fun her kids have at our place, hunting for a yeti. I didn't think I needed to tell her the yeti was only a legend ...
But still, I can't help asking her, "Did your sons tell you how the yeti ate my other son?"