Death of a Rhinoceros

This is my piggy bank, or rhino-bank if you prefer. I got it years ago at a family Christmas party as a white elephant gift. (Ironic, huh?) And for whatever reason I loved it. I am not normally a big game animal kind of girl, and my husband has outlawed all forms of animal prints since day one of our marriage. So even though he doesn't match anything else in my bedroom, or the rest of my house for that matter, I have hauled him around thorough several moves because he just makes me smile.

Until tonight. When my son tried to simultaneously put the butter back in the fridge, his cup in the sink and the piggy bank back on my dresser. Obviously something had to give. My poor sad rhino.


So now the hunt is on. I need a replacement piggy bank, but I will no longer be satisfied with a common place pig. I have grown to expect both whimsy and quirky-ness from my change holding receptacles. It doesn't necessarily have to be a rhino either. I guess it will have to be one of those things that I'll know it when I see it.

Tonight was just sort of strange at our house. Brian had to work late so it was just the kids and me for dinner. Jake made the comment that it just didn't feel like a family dinner without Daddy and Lila (who was asleep at the time) at the table. He followed that sweet observation with this question, "Mom? If we were cannonballs which part of the human would we eat?" It took me a few seconds to work out that he meant cannibals. I told him I didn't think that that was a particularly appropriate topic for the dinner table but he really wanted clarification on what part of the human body would be the meat. I explained that meat is muscle tissue from different animals and promptly handed over the rest of my chicken breast. I am hoping the fact that he found the idea interesting is an indication of a medical turn of mind and not a homicidal Hannibal Lecter leaning. Of course he could have just been trying to gross me out so he could finish my chicken.

And one last Jake story that I have to write down before I forget. Last night my in-laws watched the kids so Brian and I could go to a play. Kind of a fun middle-of-the-week date night. As we were pulling in the drive way Jake asked if we could listen to a song before going inside. Being a mom, and therefore contractually obligated to embarrass my children when they are older, I thought I would be funny and started to sing in a pretend operatic voice that was off-key on purpose. Evie and Lila obliged with giggles. Jake stared at me solemnly for a moment and then said, "I am not trying to rude or anything, but don't you feel humiliated?" Ouch. Thanks Jake, I do now.