You know your mothering skills have reached a new low when you make your son cry on his birthday. I know, I’m a lout. I got home last night from class to discover that instead of the highly practical bike we had discussed, McKay chose to buy a hundred dollars’ worth of toys for his present. My immediate response when greeted with this news – to yell “Are you kidding me?!!!” – was probably not the best way to handle things, which I say in retrospect because it made McKay cry although it was truly instinctual and I’d like to think I’m not accountable for things I say while in a state of total shell shock. I apologized to McKay for getting upset and reminded him (and myself) that it was his birthday and I hoped he would have lots of fun with his new toys, which by the way, include:
1) A remote control backhoe as big as a dog with realistic construction noises and NO (believe me I’ve looked) volume control. The only thing we need less than more toys in our home is more noise.
2) A remote control airplane that within 1 hour of arriving in our home was already stuck so far up in a pine tree it required professional extraction with a 15-foot extension ladder and a 6-foot father bearing a 7-foot piece of wood trim. This morning, against my advice, which was (and I quote): “let’s all wait until Nora wakes up and go to the park to fly it,” the boys took the plane out for a spin in the cul-de-sac and within 2 minutes had lost it somewhere over the neighbors’ roofs. A rescue expedition ensued which, to everyone’s great relief, recovered the plane. The one redeeming outcome of this incident was that when they returned home, Ethan in his best maternal voice, philosophized: “Now what have we all learned from this experience?” and the boys agreed: “Listen to Mom. She’s always right.” I think the gloat mileage alone is worth the 100 bucks.
3) (Heaven help us!) A skateboard. I can see the medical bills accumulating already.
Deep breaths, Julie. Repeat after me: it’s his birthday….it’s his birthday…it’s his birthday.