You can file this one under: Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time. Or possibly: What To Get the Parents of Small Children if You Think They Don't Have Enough Vomit in Their Lives. (And so many of them don't. Really, just ask anyone with kids, and you will NOT get a torrent of semi-humorous anecdotes about the Technicolor yawn which will cause you to rethink having friends with kids.) Possibly also cross indexed with: How Do I Get This Quickly Off My Hands Without Betraying My Cool Exterior.
I'm going to give massive props to the Machiavellian geniuses at the marketing department for packaging bodily waste as a fun play-toy. It's really the holy grail of sales, right? The gold-plated coprolite that's not really gold-plated, but instead ominously sterilized
. The kids and I have happily eviscerated the fake-dinosaur-bones-in-plaster things: be a paleontologist without pesky grant writing and worrying about tenure!
But this? Just...yuck. Also, get it off. My kids aren't what you'd call fastidious by a good stretch – they're kids, need I say more? But my son began dissecting the euphemistic “owl pellet” - I had not actually read the packaging, so I didn't understand that they meant REAL BARF & not some plaster simulacrum – and he looked up at me and said, “This smells bad. Can I wash my hands and not do this?” I'm actually surprised that the universe didn't come to an end right that second, Hadron Collider style, because when children actually request to wash their hands, you know the end is seriously freaking nigh.
I'm not going to give this the one star that it richly, nauseatingly deserves, because while I really really don't like it, the book itself is engaging and interesting, even if there are too many cutesy, unfunny cartoons for my taste. Seriously, go check out Owl Babies
instead. So, maybe Owl Babies
is less about owls and more about parental abandonment, but at least it doesn't come with not-so-novelty puke.