Monday, July 7, 2008

*&^%ing Happy Meal Toy...

The Cave Troll was unhappy.

When the Cave Troll is unhappy, he does what many of us do--he blames the whole fucking miserable world for his unhappiness.

"Mom...you lost my transformer!!!"

"That's right kid. I stole your transformer and lost it. I'm mean that way." (Because sarcasm goes over well with the pre-school crowd, right?)

"Mooom... you have to find my transformer. You lost my transformer. YOU HAVE TO FIND MY TRANSFORMER!!!"

The hysteria was becoming truly unhealthy, so I figured I'd try a re-direct. "Okay--here's what I need you to do. You lay down and take a nap," (because, can you tell? It was definitely NAP TIME) "and once you lay down, I'll find your transformer guy." I have no idea how I'll do this, btw--but I know it must be done, because the Cave Troll? Not one of those kids who forgets after the nap. Nope. Nosirree, nuh-nuh, nohow.

So what follows is fifteen minutes of my life I'll never get back, sitting on the edge of the bed, threatening, cajoling, promising, rewarding, hugging, and weeping until e pluribus Cave Troll is laying down in (get this) MY bed, threatening me with dire consequences (i.e., more whining) should the transformer not be there when he wakes up.

I stand up, exhausted by the mental effort already, take two steps, look into the top of a laundry basket, and HOLY SHIT AND PASS THE POTATOES, THERE'S THE FUCKING HAPPY MEaL TOY.

"See!" I yelled, doing a (mostly) dignified 'I"m-bad-uh-huh-I'm-bad" dance at the foot of the bed. "I TOLD you if you'd just lay down, I'd find your transformer!!!"

*sigh* It's not often that mama-justice is that immediate, but I tell you, it sure is sweet.


(P.S. We didn't bug-bomb. If I'd seen any single gnarly-wiggly-nasty little spiderleg the next morning, it would have been a no-brainer, but I didn't see a damned one, so I think we'll wait until it's not a bazillion degrees outside. But thanks for the tip about the hairspray! How much does it say about us as a family that I don't think we have any to make the little goombahs stiff before we vacuum them up?)

5 comments:

  1. An amazing feat of mother magic. My congratulations on saving the day!

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  2. HHHHHaaaahhhhhh! Motherkarma wins the day!!!

    Congratulations on using your powers for good!

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  3. Wow! Impressive... fancy passing a bit of that mummy magic over this way?!

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  4. Ah, sweet vindication! I was happy Sunday night when the new transformer toy meant I didn't have to swap toys out at bedtime. He didn't get bored with it in the time from bath to books to tv to bed like he usually does.

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  5. You. Totally. ROCK!!

    As for the hairspray, it lacquers them in place. They are adhered to the surface for the rest of whatever, with their breathing spicules sealed shut. You are left with a killing field full of tiny corpses which makes for an interesting conversation piece, but is karmically probably a bad thing. I don't own any hairspray now either. Who uses hairspray now? Wonder what Pam spray would do to tiny spiders?

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