Tell us what Trust means to you for a chance to win!
Mimi and The Bee
Last Sunday, (Canada Day), hubby and I decided we were long overdue to spend some time with our two little nephews, Kris (six) and Matthew (three). They are a hoot-and-a-half and we always have fun with them. After checking their very busy social agendas, they agreed to spend the day with Mimi and Uncle John.
We began with a noon showing of the Pirates movie at the Dollar Cinema (that’s a misnomer, movies aren’t a dollar, but are admittedly pretty cheap, so I won’t quibble.) I spent more time marveling at the hand-eye coordination the two of them displayed while polishing off their bags of popcorn and sodas without once ever taking their eyes off the screen, than I did at the movie. As the credits rolled, Matthew fist-pumped the air and hollered “Argh” in his best pirate imitation, which we took to be a ringing endorsement of the film.
Then it was time for part two of Kris and Matty’s excellent adventure. We headed off to a park for a gourmet picnic lunch of peanut butter sandwiches and lots of playtime.
At first it was basic park-play 101-swings, seesaws, slides and lots of sand in my shoes. Then I met the Bee. The Bee is a large, yellow, plastic, two-seater park-ride that is mounted on springs. I momentarily took leave of my senses—I blame the heat of the noonday sun—and allowed Kris to convince me to wedge myself into the backseat. After I gracefully clambered up onto the raised step and lowered myself into the seat, my knees up around my chin, Kris began to bounce us up and down. After a few kidney-jarring minutes, he decided it was time to move on and hopped out of the front seat. I tried to follow suit. It was then I realized that there was nothing to hold on to, to use as leverage to hoist myself up; my legs were bent too far to stand up on my own and despite flailing around with my foot and reaching down as far as I could, I also couldn’t touch the ground—I was stuck. As Kris began to saunter off, I hissed at him that he couldn’t leave me there, especially as I noticed one mom giving me sidelong glances of amused disdain: “Rookie,” I could hear her thinking. I was trying to will her to look away so I could wriggle and struggle my way out without an audience, but no such luck.
Finally, Kris gave me a pitying look and said, “I’ll hold on to the bee’s antennae to steady it and you just stand up!” It worked. Sweating and red-faced I was freed from the clutches of The Bee. A little while later, my bruised dignity somewhat restored, I was pushing Matthew on the swings, the ugly incident already fading from my memory, when with all the enthusiasm that only a three-year-old can muster, he pleaded, ”Mimi, want to go on The Bee with me?”