Jack and the Beanstalk'ed

OK. So my five-year-old requested "Jack and the Beanstalk" last night.

Classic story with giant produce, a goose that must have been exposed to some kind of industrial waste in order to lay golden eggs and a harried mom who really can't understand why her stupid kid would sell their only cow for a few crappy beans.

In today's world, she'd blame television.

In any case, "Jack and the Beanstalk" is one of the classic stories we don't have in book form. So Yours Truly went old school and recited it. Complete with hand gestures, scary voices and foot stomping. Seriously. No one has ever performed Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum better. Seriously. De Niro couldn't have TOUCHED it.

After mimicking the giant's death plunge from the beanstalk (sorry, it wasn't the G-rated version) where he collapsed into a bloody mess on the ground surrounded by partying villagers who don't understand the terms "home invasion" and "wrongful death suit," my son clapped his hands in delight. Then he got quiet.

Son: "That giant sounded scary, Mom."

Me: "He was. And stinky."

Son: "Maybe you can draw me a picture of him, so I know what he looks like next time." Pause. "But don't make him too scary, OK? I wanna be able to sleep at night."

So we got out the markers this morning, and I penned the giant's mug. In case you're wondering, I made him a Cyclops. Just because I can. And, no, I am not ready for those art schools you see on television.