WARNING: Profanity to follow, even besides tossing out terms like “limp lizard.” Read at your own risk.
I’m writing this because the 3 Virgos/3 Week Birthday celebration is now over for 2007. We held Drama Girl’s birthday party at a paint your own pottery place on Sunday. After our 2 hours were up, I left the scene carrying out more giftbags and toys, exhausted and relieved it was all over for another year (and that no one broke anything in the shop).
Shortly after my arrival home I succumbed to the pleading of my children and let each select one gift for me to assemble. I think they knew better than to ask more of me than what I could handle — i.e., “Mom, I want to play with everything NOW!” But then again, who would have known I was so near the edge even with just two toys? Let me show you why I nearly went off the deep end.
First, Exhibit, A:
“What a nice red placement,” you may be thinking. Why, thank you. William Sonoma. Overpriced. Tell us something we don’t already know.
No, not the stupid placemat — the stuff. The sturdy plastic stuff scattered across the overpriced placemat needed to secure a 7-inch doll and her accessories into a plastic case. The photo doesn’t do it justice.
A. Seven. Inch. Doll.
Tip for Toy Manufacturers: I don’t need to see what the fucking doll looks like up close in the box. Nor do I care that the doll’s skirt is poofed out (buoyed by a ring of plastic underneath; my daughter found that just when I thought I was done), or that her hair appears “just so” – sewn into a plastic thingy secured to the plastic case. Stick the thing in a box with a photo on the front. Shove it in there. Don’t even comb the doll’s hair, I don’t care. If it’s breakable, put bubble wrap around it…just don’t secure it with more of that plastic shit. Please, I beg you.
Now let’s examine Exhibit B:
This, my friends, is T-Rex’s T-Rex. It was a great gift idea from my parents — assemble your own dinosaur! Put the leg bones in, take the leg bones out, put the leg bones in and shake it all about…
T-Rex and I love the gift in theory, and I know it probably cost a lot, but the problem is that the plastic/made in China bones won’t stay together quite well enough while I try and shove the motherfuckers into the plastic vinyl “skin.” See that poor sod’s broken tail? Snaps apart every time I try to jam something else inside the body. The legs keep coming out of the hip sockets, his eyes that glow red aren’t lining up right with the holes, the errant rib sections fall away from the spine.
Look at him! That’s his heart, people — a heart patiently waiting for one off-the-deep-end, swearing mother to give it another try so he can roar and come to life. I don’t know if I can do it.
While I was trying to assemble it, my human T-Rex said, “I’m sorry, Mommy.” GREAT. Now the kid has a complex because of my ineptitude and the U.S. trade deficit.
I told him, “Oh, no, honey, it isn’t your fault. I’m sorry because I know you want to play with it.”
He asked me if it wasn’t working out because it wasn’t made right.
I sighed and told him yes, leaving out the additional swearing going on in my head. In retrospect I don’t know if he meant me or the dinosaur. I’m glad Christmas is still a few months off. Do any of you other parents or aunts/uncles feel this way, or am I just off my rocker and inept?