Personal Space

Brains, more or less

Ok, everyone, gather close. I have to tell you a secret.
It seems I screwed up.
Remember my friends Heather and Jim? With the newborn daughter? Well, her name is actually spelled ROWYN. So I just went back and changed all the “Rowan”s to “Rowyn.” I even edited the comments. Shhh. And looking at the two spellings, I think they’re totally right. Rowyn is the better spelling by far. Which is a good thing, because apparently it was my suggestion to spell it that way.
I really need to pay better attention when I’m talking.
Don’t anyone tell Heather, ok?
Alright, moving on.
So the boys and I did go downtown today. Tre was going to sell the honey from his hives at Dad’s office. Tre is being led down the slippery slope of beekeeping by my father. Now, you have to understand something about my dad. Beekeeping is odd, right? I mean, most people don’t know how to respond when someone declares that they keep bees. Well, Dad not only keeps bees, he keeps bees in topbar hives. Which makes him a bit odd- AMONG BEEKEEPERS. He not only uses topbar hives, he’s actually on the FOREFRONT of topbar beekeeping. If you google “topbar hives” his name is like the third to come up. So he’s an anomaly among TOPBAR BEEKEEPERS. Aaaand he’s teaching all this to my son, who has absolutely no hope of being normal when he grows up.
Max has never showed any interest in keeping bees until today, when he suddenly noticed people were handing Tre money. He demanded to know how much of that money he would be getting.
“Well, none.” I replied. “That’s Tre’s money, because he’s selling his honey from his hives.” Max watched with narrowed eyes for a few minutes, then announced to Dad that he wanted his own hives. Dad allowed as how that was a good idea. I’m on to the kid, though. I had a beehive when I was a kid. Never even noticed it until the state fair came to town, when I became determined to relieve my hive of its honey. And to SELL said honey, at which point I could go back to ignoring the bees.
Tre, however, seems actually interested in bees. I mean, the money is a definite draw, but he talks about his hives, and fusses over weather conditions, and notices swarms. He’s been stung about five times, and doesn’t consider it all that big of a deal. It’s like he’s got a section in his brain that most of us are missing, the section that collects bee understanding. I think it’s very cool, this library of information he’s amassing in his head. Never mind that I cannot for the life of me maintain my focus when he’s explaining things about his hives to me. He cares about it, and that’s what matters.
Max has a different section in his brain, a section that cares about clothes. I’ve mentioned before his odd dressing ways. Well, I got tired of going places with him while he looks like something between a Chippendale’s dancer and a drug runner. So yesterday we went shopping for “fancy clothes.”
And oh my, did we find some fancy clothes. Max picked out some navy slacks, a blue button-down shirt, and a red tie. Add a black belt and shiny black shoes, and he looked like a tiny little executive. As a matter of fact, while we were eating lunch a businessman walked up to our table, pointed at his shirt, and then at Max’s. They matched, right down to the red tie and black shoes. He gave Max a thumbs-up, which was rewarded with a tiny shy smile.
Max could NOT keep his shirt tucked in all day, but he really enjoyed looking nice. He inspected himself in windows and grinned at what he saw.
Tre, on the other hand, came downstairs this morning in his usual t-shirt and shorts. I looked at him, then said,
“Hey, isn’t that the shirt you wore yesterday?” He looked down, as if surprised to find he was wearing a shirt at all.
“I guess so,” he replied.
“Isn’t it dirty?” I asked. You’d think I would have learned by now not to ask questions like that. What I should have done is stated emphatically, “Well, then it’s dirty.” But no, what I did is ask his opinion on the cleanliness of his shirt. Like he cares. He shrugged and flicked a bit of dried food off his stomach.
“No, not really.”
Different brains, different boys.
They’re so cool.



So rare to click a random 'recently updated' link and come across something interesting, intelligent, and well-writ. I figured I'd better comment lest I become a just a lurker here.


That's going to be so interesting for you, with three boys. My two are as different as night and day but I confess I often blame that on the gender difference....


And the problem with talking about the hives, fussing about weather conditions, and noticing swarms is what, exactly? I'm getting rather protective of my topbar hive too (thanks Marty!!), especially when threatened by errant roofers throwing shingles off the roof...lucky for them they didn't hit the hive.


Darned roofers. On the bright side, we'll get to harvest our first honey this weekend! Woooo!!!

Looks like your dad is sucessfully "Bee-vangelizing" us, too.

The One True Josh

Well, sure, the top-bar beekeeping nonsense is liable to interfere with his socialization, but you're compensating for that with home-schooling, so Tre should be fine...



E is brought to tears some days since he's had to ignore his bees so with the bar exam and the job hunt :) We'll be getting honey this year though, which is exciting. How much honey did Tre get this summer?


What a neat thing and heck, possibly a career in the future. Have you read The Secret Life of Bees? I've been fascinated with the whole process since reading that. I'm going to have to search out this type of bee keeping you mention now. :) How much money did he make?


snort.....between a Chippendale’s dancer and a drug ya Kira!

Hula Doula

Favorite quote - "..cross between a Chippenale dancer and a drug runner." HAHAHAHAHAHAHA Cracked me up!
I hae a boy and a girl but I'm only at 1 year old with the boy so far and he gives me a run for my money! You must be a great woman to handle two boys!!

The comments to this entry are closed.