M purchased an ant farm for the kids. (Consequently, that same week he also bought traps for some ants which we did NOT invite.) I was not sure that we needed to go and introduce any more pestilence into our home, but I was silenced by the kids.
That’s the farm. The ants were meant to dig tunnels in the gooey blue gel. I had planned on using the industriousness of the ants as an example of how small communities… Blah, blah.
It seems, however, we have gotten a batch of stunningly lazy ants. They play dead for days on end and then miraculously revive. Nary a tunnel has been built. Instead, they frenetically climb over each other in a state of confusion.
The boys like to place the farm on the table during mealtimes, you know, to give the ants a sense of belonging and family. Bennett insists on taking off the cover so they can “breathe.”
I am not sure ants needs to breathe fresh air, but I have learned that it is unwise to throw bread crumbs (read: half a bagel) into an ant farm, because then you wind up with a fungal mess.
Come on, ants! Buck up! Disregard the fungus! Set an example for these larger pestilential creatures who don’t make beds or clear plates, or even throw clothes INTO the hamper.