Cheeky and Meeky
I know that every mother thinks her children are the smartest, most amazing creatures to have ever graced the Earth. That is both our job and our right. With that being said, mine are. Seriously, G has a voice like an angel and picks up songs on the piano faster than my brain can grasp. She reads voraciously, anything and everything she can get her hands on. This explains why a Cosmo or tawdry romance novel will never be found in my house, because those would lead to questions that I am so not ready to answer for another decade or two. Or three.
And then there is N. He has this way of looking at the world that lies just off of what most people see. He has these two friends, Cheeky and Meeky. They used to make constant appearances, but now they just pop in occasionally to say hi. Cheeky and Meeky both look exactly like him, but they can do things that no mere mortal can do. Ride snowboards beside our car, fly, add twenty-sixteen columns of numbers, show N movies on his ceiling, collect raptors of all sorts… The most impressive thing that we have learned about Cheeky and Meeky is that they can shoot dung bullets. Yes-dung bullets. N told us this one day out of the blue.
And then there is N. He has this way of looking at the world that lies just off of what most people see. He has these two friends, Cheeky and Meeky. They used to make constant appearances, but now they just pop in occasionally to say hi. Cheeky and Meeky both look exactly like him, but they can do things that no mere mortal can do. Ride snowboards beside our car, fly, add twenty-sixteen columns of numbers, show N movies on his ceiling, collect raptors of all sorts… The most impressive thing that we have learned about Cheeky and Meeky is that they can shoot dung bullets. Yes-dung bullets. N told us this one day out of the blue.
“Cheeky and Meeky can shoot dung bullets.”
Silence. “Really???”
“Yep, they shoot dung bullets out of their mouths.”
Giggle. “Dung bullets? Do you know what dung is, N?”
Serious. “Yep. Bullets.”
G chimes in, with her well-read nine-year-old vocabulary, “Dung is poop, dummy. EEEEEWWWWW!”
“Is not.”
I choke back another giggle, “Um, yes, dung is poo, N. Sorry.”
More awkward silence. ” Oh. When Cheeky and Meeky shoot bullets, I meant a DIFFERENT kind of dung. Not that kind.”
After that conversation, Cheeky and Meeky became much more peaceful, leaving the bullets behind and picking up skateboards instead. The rest of us, however, have not forgotten the dung bullets. That is an image that is kind of hard to erase from your mind once it is there.
