Momma Had a Baby and Its Head Popped Off

In my wonder years, we tiny humans performed a bizarre flora-based ritual that would horrify modern botanists. We'd hunt down those innocent dandelion puffballs—nature's Q-tips—and with the maniacal glee only children possess, we'd execute them mid-nursery rhyme. "Momma had a baby and its head POPPED OFF!" THWACK! Off went the fluffy noggin, sailing through the air like some medieval public spectacle. We'd cackle with delight at our harmless botanical beheadings, finding it nearly as entertaining as our evening pursuit of kidnapping lightning bugs—those flying lanterns we'd imprison in glass jars like tiny bioluminescent felons. Ah, childhood: where plant decapitation and insect abduction were considered wholesome entertainment!