Hahahahaha! Wheee!

(A dramatically lit bin on Superbowl Sunday. No, I'm not watching football, don't be silly.)

Only 2/5ths of a bottle of Shiraz later, success is mine. The 20,000 kids are back in the bin, safely ensconsed under damp newspaper, on top of (almost!) 6 inches of the freaking permafrost compost. The bin does not (currently!) stink. And, only a small portion of the temporary worm-home Tote bins went anaerobic.

Ok, so I know you want to know. You want me to expand on just what anaerobic in a worm bin means. Remember what I said about the business cards being the worst stink? Let's just say I was hasty in that judgement. The worst stink would be two handfuls of half-nibbled timothy hay, some waste paper from questionable sources, and a few worms that have gone anerobic. The worms actually got... Gooey. Elongated. Pale. The smell was, um, fishy. Although not like sushi. And not like low tide. And powerful. And terribly sad. (Furiously tamp down maternal instinct: now!)

And I feel completely horrid about it. Really, seriously.

So, why do I keep the number at 20,000, despite having lost a few worm souls? Because the other bin was a maternity ward. There were many, many newly hatched babies. Gosh, but a baby worm is cute. Picture a *tiny* pink earthworm. And I do mean tiny.

About this long: ------------.

I make a completely reflexive and ghastly female noise every time I see one. It goes like this: "AWwwwwwww!" And, weirdly, I am not ashamed.