This is Goldie:
image from here
He is the mascot for the Winnipeg Goldeyes which is the baseball team in our city.
A couple of summers ago, my husband and I took the kids to see a Goldeyes game.
On the way there, my two oldest boys were having a nice brotherly conversation, with my then, 5 year old son, Terran.
Wyatt, the oldest, was telling Terran that one of his friends used to have a little brother.
One day, they went to a Goldeyes game.
While they were there, Goldie, the mascot, chased the little brother around the bases, and when he caught him, he ate the little brother.
“That’s why Colin is so nice to you when he comes over,” Wyatt says to my five year old. “He misses his little brother Sammie. Little Sammie liked Goldie too, but Goldie is not to be trusted.”
So I holler back, “Wyatt, stop making that kind of shit up! Goldie does not eat little kids.”
Wyatt says, “But Mom, what about Little Sammie! That’s exactly what he thought until he was being gobbled down by Goldie.”
I reply, “Oh I love this song on the radio! Everyone be quiet so I can sing along!”
Terran says, “What about Little Sammie?”
And I answer, between singing “…all the single ladies, all the single ladies…Terran there is no Little Sammie.”
And Wyatt says, “That’s right, there is no Little Sammie anymore.”
So we get to the game, and a man approaches us, and says: “Hi! I’m So-and-So from the Winnipeg Goldeyes, and I was wondering if your son would like to run the bases during intermission.”
Excitedly, my husband pipes up, “Of course he’d love to!”
Buddy goes on to say, “Yes, Goldie will be with him out there.”
To which Wyatt quickly whispers to Terran, “See! They get you to run around the bases so you’re too tired to fight him off when he eats you. That’s exactly what happened to Little Sammie.”
I look over at Terran, “You don’t believe that, do you?”…Because really, I’m pretty sure my kids are smarter than that, right?…don’t answer…
But Terran is saying that he doesn’t believe this story.
So during intermission, Terran goes out to the field.
He gets on first base.
Goldie gets behind him…
…and chases him around the bases…HOLDING A GIANT FORK!
Pretty sure Terran has never run so fast in all his life.
I, unfortunately, have no pictures to prove this because I was too busy trying to figure out how the record button on my camera worked.
So, all of this to say, that Terran got out of bed in the middle of the night a couple of days ago because his legs hurt.
He insisted he needed to be in my bed.
“Why?” I asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Well, it’s because of the bugs. I’m scared of the bugs,” he replied.
Instantly my mind goes to bed bugs, so I bolt upright, run to his room, switch the light on, and strip the bedding. “What bugs? How long have you felt the bugs?”
He says, “Not the bugs in my bed. The bugs in my legs.”
“What do you mean ‘the bugs in your legs?’ You don’t have bugs in your legs,” I reply, still searching for any sign of bedbugs.
Before continuing I should mention that Terran has horrible planters warts on the bottom of his foot…I know, gross…
…however, Terran says, “Yes, I have bugs in my legs. Wyatt told me that’s why I have sore legs sometimes. Because the warts on the bottom of my foot are actually bug eggs, and when they hatch, they crawl up into my legs, so that’s why my legs are sore.”
…Obviously, I don’t need to get into the fact that Wyatt is out to get me on so many levels, I can’t even begin to describe.
He wants to be a cinematographer and a screen writer.
I suspect he’s using our family as fodder for the storylines.
I also suspect that if I don’t start getting sleep soon, Santa will be wacking him over the head with his giant red bag on Christmas…anybody have a Santa suit I can borrow?