Today I left for work with the sounds of zooming toy cars reverberating through my house and I can’t really explain why, but it made me feel very happy. Maybe it reminded me of growing up with two younger brothers. Ryan and I used to play with his Hotwheels and Micro Machines; I loved playing with cars more than My Little Ponys. (But it my toy car passion was probably tied with my obsession for Sweet Secrets, those things were bomb. Toys AND jewelry in one?!)
We used to build a tiered parking garage out of waffle blocks and lose ourselves in valet heaven for hours. Sometimes Egon and Slimer and Donatello and Splinter would join us.
I guess this is what I’ve been waiting for: My son is finally not a baby anymore and he plays with toys independently and says “whee whee” as he pushes a dump truck into Don’s hind legs and it’s just going to keep getting better (until he starts shop lifting and impregnating girls and joining whatever version of the Trenchcoat Mafia will be infecting society in the next decade).
In a surprising twist of fate, I got a new Secret Santa recipient. My boss — who kicks my chair to get my attention in lieu of, oh I don’t know, saying my name — took Gum Girl off my hands in exchange for Young Lindsay, whose wish list was making my boss all a’fluster.
“I don’t know any of this stuff!” she moaned last night. It turns out Lindsay and I have more in common than I imagined and I’m taking this as my signal to mold and sculpt her into the best Mini Erin she can be.
Shopping for her will be way more fun than picking up a Tyler Perry DVD.