A Helpful Toy Maker

Most of my blog posts are devoted to cynical complaints.  While cynicism is one of my more endearing qualities, I would like to give credit where credit is due.  I just purchased “Crocodile Dentist” (a charming game involving a surly croc) on clearance from Toys R Us.  I spent a whopping $3.48 on this item.  When I got home and opened it, I discovered that the toy wouldn’t work.  I then called the number for Hasbro on the back of the box.  I was greated warmly and told that although “Crocodile Dentist” was currently out of production, the company would try to solve the problem.  The very next day a box containing two brand new Hasbro games for the same age range arrived at my door.  I was very impressed with Hasbro’s customer service and I would recommend thier products to anyone.

Tantrum Lessons

My mother in law (no, this isn’t going to be one of those posts all you poor dears with dreadful mother in laws) is generous to a fault. I think it stems from her austere childhood, but we rarely leave her home without her thrusting some sort of gift at us. I do my best not to take them all, but darn it, she gives us good stuff! Yesterday, we went over to move some stuff around in her barn. Miraculously, she “found” a fabulous little lego table (ya, more likely bought at a tag sale and stashed away in the barn, awaiting an opportunity to further spoil us) and offered it to our daughter. To maximize the potential for us to accept said gift, she wisely chose a Lego-related item, which dad will not only approve of, but want to play with himself. She was also wily in her decision to offer it to our girl right in front of everyone. Thus ensuring that the child will fall madly in love with it, raising the odds daddy won’t be able to resist.

But it was so very hot out. 91 degrees in the shade.

Daddy and daughter share more than an oddly intense love of building blocks. Both have short fuses that nearly dissapear in hot weather. They meltdown faster than frosty in a microwave. She began to simmer when daddy made polite “oh mom, you do too much” noises (I knew they were empty, given the item, but a three year old lacks the ability to detect such subtly of communication). Yet things came to a boil when Daddy accepted, and asked our girl to thank grandma and grandpa.

Now I wasn’t standing all that nearby when the gift was proffered, so maybe things went down the way Grandma said (my daughter does say please and thank you more often than not), but it is equally possible that Grandma just wanted our daughter to have the gift and was covering her wee toddler ass… but when daddy asked our girl to say thank you for the second time, a gauntlet was thrown and so did our wee angel throw herself down on the lawn in a fit of tragic sorrow at the seemingly inevitable loss of this precious object.

Now we hold tough on tantrums. Tantrums = no joy. She throws one and we throw down. But from my vantage point, it all seemed so exaggerated and accelerated. How did we go from present to pandemonium in 10 seconds flat? I could hear father in law grumbling to his wife “stay out of it” as she plead our daughter’s case “but she did say thank you” while dad’s insistence that he hear her say it was nearly drowned out by the sound of the steam emitting from his ears. And I admit it, I sort of gave in to her by engaging her at all during a fit. I whispered in her ear, “darling, you are a good girl. I know you are grateful and will thank your grandma. the toy is yours, please don’t worry about it anymore. Just come with me to look at grandma’s flowers, please?”

And so she rose, dejected. A sad and broken child; cheeks reddened from despair and the blistering heat. We marveled together at grandma’s lovely flower bed, peopled by mischievous gnomes. Grandma joined us for a giggle. Then grandpa and dad made their way over and my dear girl said, “grandma, may I please have the lego table?” To which she said, “of course, honey.” “Thank you, Grandma,” she said. Thank you.

The Spirit Wars

There’s a fierce battle of the wills unfolding in our house. Tempers run hot and tears run plentifully. On one side of the battle field stands daddy, strong and proud. Alpha male at its finest, accustomed to winning his battles through superior fire power (wits, skill, brute force). Yet he may have met his match in a 35lb 3-year-old girl. She is wily, she is nimble, and above all, she holds the force of conviction usually reserved for the irrational, faith-based zealot. We call this last trait: Toddler Stubbornness.

This morning’s battle was waged in the potty. My husband (rightly) feels that bathrooms are not the cleanest rooms in the home and that food and toys are best kept out. However, when the urge struck our girl this fine morning, she had her Julius the monkey / Lego keychain in hand and was loathe to release it. As a result, she couldn’t navigate her way onto the toilet and tumbled unceremoniously to the floor. She barked out a command to the nearest available minion, “Daddy, help me!” Ah, a chink in her armor, though, as daddy spied the offending toy and pointed out that she could get onto the toilet if it weren’t in her hand. Oh the war cry that issued forth from our spawn! But by then, the battle was engaged. Daddy snatched the toy, reminded her they didn’t belong in the bathroom, plunked her on the potty and marched out.

The minute she dismounted the throne, the queen demanded her toy. “Well,” taunted daddy, “you’d have it if you listened to me in the first place.” Amidst a flurry of weeping and limbs, the vanquished queen demanded the return of her toy. Her challenger, however, has laid down rules of engagement that all must follow, demands must be phrased in polite (if insincere) language, and delivered in a non-whining, non-commanding tone. Thwarted by his superior height and ability to keep Julius just out of reach, the queen acquiesced. “Daddy, may I PLEASE have Julius?” “Please!” Ah, but Daddy was not ready to call a truce yet. He said, okay, “here he is, but to keep him, you need to listen to me.” Uh oh. He hands her the precious toy, then tells her to put it down and walk away from it, promising she can have it right back. She sets it down, but keeps her hand on it. He repeats his request so she lets go, but puts her head down in the very image of sorrow, inches from Julius. No, daddy is not satisfied; she must walk away from the toy. At last, spirit crushed, she walks way, trailing her arm out behind her as if to brush her lover’s fingers before leaving each other forever. Elated, daddy hugs her and tells her the toy is all hers.

Fifteen minutes later, I step on something painful and wrench Lego Julius from my tender arch. We may win the battles, but the outcome of the war remains to be seen.

Legoland

My husband has been a tad Lego crazed since boyhood. He has now infected our daughter. It all started with the Holiday Lego Train, and has since spread to every corner of our home, from auto racing in the living room to more traditional structure building in the office. He and his mother have been digging up all of my husbands childhood toys, and from the look of some of them, they were literally buried in the yard. Now I’m sure every mom out there has had to clean kid crud off of toys and has cursed the nook-and-cranny loving idiots who design them for maximum crud collection. Okay, I’m off that rant now. Anyhow, to save me from hours of soaking and scrubbing, my husband looked online and found out it is safe to run Legos through the dishwasher. So I dug out the lingire bag (ya! it has a use!) and loaded up the pieces for a china cycle. Unfortunately, it wasn’t terribly effective so husband heads back online to clarify. Oh! Silly us! One needs a special Bosch Lego-certified dishwasher. Who knew? I admit it, I do love the silverware tray… maybe the lego infection has gotten me too. If I had the Bosh, at least our Legos might not infect others.

Comfort in Numbers

This morning on my way out of dropping my daughter at daycare, I saw an adorable 14 month old waddling in clutching a stuffed lion. I cooed in appreciation of the picture they made and the mom said the two are inseparable. Ah, I said, buy a duplicate ASAP. Why, she wondered wide-eyed? Oh, to shatter the peace and joy of this young mother… Twice now at this very (wonderful) preschool “woobys” have gone missing. Much to the dismay of the toddler in question. Okay, dismay is a gross understatement. We’re talking crying, sleep disruption, utter fits. In one case, the wooby was no longer something stores carried… the enterprising parents went onto eBay and found a duplicate (at a premium), only to have their son reject it. Once weeks of searching had passed, he did eventually accept Wooby 2, but oh how his mother wished she’d bought two and interchanged them from the start.

Handwriting Analysis

I feel confident that if my handwriting were analyzed, it would reveal numerous unpleasantries about my mental state. If nothing else, it demonstrates remarkable laziness in perfecting this fundamental skill. Yesterday, waiting for a recalled part to be replaced on my car (do they make any cars these days that don’t have parts recalled?), I used the complementary computer to check work-related emails while eavesdropping on the others in the room. A woman of about 55 or 60 was deriding “kids today” and their lack of penmanship. “Atrocious! Do they even teach it any longer?” As luck would have it, she was sitting next to a teacher, who is also the mother of a 3 year old. “My child will learn,” she said, “because I’m a teacher.” Okay, I was a pretty great student. It was unusual for me to get below an A, though I plummeted to C+ land twice: I took Physics as an elective in college and guess what? It was wicked hard. I also got a C+ in fifth grade handwriting. I don’t think it was an entire course, but rather a segment of our reading class. I remember it, so it must have stung. My solution? Pester my grandma for a typewriter, which I received two years later. I took typing class in junior high and never turned in a handwritten paper since.

So now I have a 3 year old who mastered the alphabet a year and a half ago, recognizes all the upper & lower case letters, and can spell her name (no small feat as it is nine letters). She wants to learn to write her name now. We mastered H (the first letter), but haven’t gotten far beyond that. Part of the problem? I can’t for the life of me remember how to actually draw the letters. I mean I can make them so that they are moderately legible on paper, but I know there’s actually a “right” way to write. Enter grandma: She sent my girl what on the surface appears to be one of those noisy toys you want to feed to the gift-giver. But no! It is a VTech Write & Learn Letter Pad, which not only teaches her the correct way to draw letters, but has given me an excellent review too.