For some reason, no matter how often I say, "We only get presents on birthdays and Christmas," my kids still think that every shopping trip is a renewed opportunity to hone their begging skills. Like little human versions of water torture, my boys believe they will eventually wear a canyon into my resolve.
On a trip to Walmart this week, my older son pounced. I always try to follow a shopping path to avoid walking past the toys, but I forgot cat food and had to double back - big mistake. As soon as we got close to the toy section, I started to jabber loudly and walk faster, hoping we could breeze past without incident. Nope.
There was a Batman action set on an end cap that was apparently so great that if it didn't come home with us, my older son would immediately burst into flames and die on the spot. Batman did not come home with us. I'm happy to report that the news of my son's death by spontaneous combustion was greatly exaggerated.
Moving past the toys, finally, with a whimpering boy in tow, I had to check the automotive and tools section. One of the things about keeping everything running on a small urban farm complete with a vintage 1970s house is that it requires an almost unending supply of random tools, duct tape, and zip ties.
A few months ago, our wet/dry vac finally went out for good, so I have been keeping my eyes on prices. Life with animals and young kids in a house with a well and septic system finds endless uses for a wet/dry vacuum. Gross.
Anyway, Walmart had one of the handy smaller-sized wet/dries for 65% off, a steal. I popped it straight into the cart.
My son's eyes quickly evolved from misty from pouting to shining with excitement. I decided that since I was getting the vacuum anyway, it could be "his" appliance. It would be a fine consolation prize for Batman.
For the last three days, this five-year-old has done little else but walk around vacuuming everything he can. He proudly announced to his brother's teacher that his new vacuum can "both suck *AND* blow!!!" earning me yet another round of preschool-teacher-side-eye. I wonder what the teachers say about our family when they all get together for margaritas and queso at the local Chili's; it can't be good.
All the animals are traumatized by the vacuuming. It's a relentless roar that's become the background of all our activities.
I thought the novelty would wear off after a few days, but not so far. He snuggles with his vacuum to watch cartoons, wants to take it on errands, and has started using the hose to "take him on walks."
Earlier tonight we went to a meet-and-greet for the incoming Kindergarten class where our son gleefully declared to his new little buddies that "his best friend is a vacuum." I guess I should be proud that he's following in my footsteps and carving out his spot as the "weird kid" early. Good luck, buddy.
My friend and RBL reader, Susan, visited her brother in Vancouver, Washington, this week. She's a very talented Master Gardner in her own right. By the way, her brother writes a blog about organic farming in the northwest - check it out.
Susan sent along this photo that she took on her travels that made her think of me and this newsletter.
I told her that I should post a similar sign but that people would be shocked when I handed them my actual children.
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