Some time before Christmas, I introduced the kids to Bob Ross, via YouTube. Caleb was completely mesmerized and kept saying, "This is amazing!" Thereafter, he set up shop on an overturned cardboard box and started churning out landscape after landscape, a la Bob Ross, albeit in crayon.
And they weren't half bad, to be honest. Plenty of happy little trees.
Later, in Sunday school, the kids were supposed to decorate cards. Caleb showed his completed card to his teacher and said, "Do you know Bob Ross?" She told me that she could, indeed, recognize the influence.
So our friends knew exactly what to get our family for Christmas.
Bob Ross, meet Photoshop. Because the picture on that box, we learned, is completely fake.
Here is Bob Ross sprouting.
Aka, covered in maggots.
I set him up on our kitchen windowsill, so he was, as Jason philosophically put it, an ever-present reminder of our mortality.
Or, noting the profuse sweating he's doing, you could picture him on Fear Factor.
A couple days later, the sperm phase.
Could it be more disturbing?
Finally, the phase of promise. Except for that sprout shooting out his right nostril like a freeze-frame sneeze, it looks like we could actually achieve picture-on-the-Chia-Pet-box status.
Unfortunately...
"Driving 55mph in my convertible."
And when we got back from Gatlinburg:
Mold and dead chia. RIP, Bob Ross.
Still, you see that smile? He's an inspiration to us all. Through maggots, sperm, mold, and terrible hair days, Bob Ross has never stopped smiling. Such unassailable gladness. Such courage in adversity.
He's been a ray of sunshine to all of us.
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