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.