The ‘season’ is upon us and the emails from the grandmothers have arrived. What might the cherubs want for Christmas, they ask.
I haven’t replied.
Because I’m trying to think of the ‘perfect’ gift. The gift that will bring them a few minutes’ worth of joy; that I won’t have to constantly pick up, or trip over, or throw in the trash ‘inadvertently’.
I got home from the parent teacher conference today. Jason was lying on the couch, with a blanket draped over him in dramatic fashion. In addition to a much publicized case of plantar fasciitis, he’d acquired another injury: ‘I stepped on a hotel’ he informed me.
I knew what he meant – a Monopoly hotel, of course. I can still see the wheelbarrow embedded in my foot. And I can still feel the sensation of sharp metal leaving thick skin as I yanked it out. And that was probably two years ago.
The best part? They don’t actually play with the game. They just dump out the pieces and the paper money and the real estate cards. Man, do I love Monopoly! And Scrabble. And Blokus. And Uno.
In addition to an injured husband on the couch, this is what else waited for me as I walked through the door. Over forty markers lying on the floor along with about fifty crayons. Fifteen or twenty marbles strewn across the kitchen floor. Pages and pages of ‘artwork’ lying around. ‘I wan paint’ the Hen announced after I surveyed the damage.
Charmed, I’m sure.
The art craze has taken a major turn for the worse, as the Gort has now discovered tape. Combined with scissors. Which result in exceedingly complicated tape-constructions in the most inconvenient of places. A tape ‘bridge’ in the stairs leading to the basement. A tape and string ‘book perch’ hanging down from the kitchen counter. As I was bustling around in the kitchen trying to get everything ready for a Thanksgiving potluck, I looked over to where the baby was sitting in his bouncy seat.
Ensconced in a ‘tent’ made of paper towel and masking tape. Luckily the sides had been left open, otherwise I might have freaked out a bit. ‘He’s in a tent!’ the Gort exclaimed. Delighted.
In an effort to keep the boys’ sticky fingers off our printer paper supply, the professor brought in a stack of neon orange and green and pink paper. Which means the house looks like a burgled surf shop.
So I don’t really know what the boys want for Christmas, but here’s a list of things ‘they’ don’t want.
Markers. Crayons. Pens. Pencils. Paper. Marbles. Games containing pieces or cards. Cars. Trains. Puzzles. Play doh. Moonsand. Tools. Books (see ban on paper). Toys with pieces (i.e. blocks, magnets, lego, lincoln logs, tinker toys, mr. potato head, and other building/stacking/ toys). Tape. Stickers. Stuffed Animals. CDs. DVDs. Clothes. Socks.
So, basically, ‘they’ want a gift certificate to a fancy restaurant or a day spa.