A friend posted today on Facebook that a local toy store would give kids a $5 gift certificate for bringing in one pound of Halloween candy, which the toy store would donate to active duty members of the Armed Forces. So, after the Flag Football games, which were played in 50 mile per hour winds and very wet snow, just so that we get some New England cred in this age of climate change, I took my two sons to the toy store, each carrying a pound or so of Halloween candy.
The toy store did a fantastic job of patiently weighing the candy and issuing the gift certificates. It should have been blissful: the store was well stocked with art supplies upstairs, lots of books, a small but significant supply of sports-related toys, a great selection of games: just charming goodness oozing from the walls. There was a section for littles and a section for babies; an area that would appeal to girls; science-themed toys; buckets and buckets of fun toys that cost $5 or less. In short: toy nirvana. There's even a separate room upstairs where there are classes in art and magic and yo-yos.
Immediately after being give the $5 certificate for his candy, my 8 year old imploded into a 2 year old version of himself. "Help me find something!" "What do you want?" "I DON'T KNOW! YOU DO IT!" Gah. The 10 year old poo-pooed most of the offerings, settling on a glow-in-the-dark football and glow-in-the-dark paint, with which he plans to paint a trash barrel to use as a target for the football. [BTW, he brought his own money to pay for the $14 in excess of the $5 certificate.]
The charming little shop was crowded with kids and staff. It was late. I was hot. The 8 year old couldn't decide. On anything. He picked out a $60 remote car thing and was told "No." He picked out an amphibious truck thing for $30 and was told that we had just SOLD the exact same thing at our Yard Sale because he never played with it and insisted on selling it. He was directed to Pick-Up Sticks, and Gyro-Wheel, and Stomp Rockets, and Sky Raider Foam Gliders, and Metallic Markers, and games and NONE of these were any good. I told the 8 year old that he needed to decide and he then realized that he had lost the gift certificate AND the two dollars that he had brought with him and had refused to let me hold for him. My immediate inclination was to drag him from the store, while his brother followed with his head down, embarrassed of his mother, and get to the car. Then, the 8 year old smashed his finger on something and started to bleed and cry at the same time.
I took a breath, applied pressure and a hug, and told the 8 year old to find the certificate and money. We searched the store and couldn't find either. I told him that I would front him the money for a toy if he would just please for the LOVE OF GOD AND ALL THAT IS GOOD pick out a toy so that we could LEAVE THE STORE. As the very last straw of my entire being was getting smashed into a hay bail, the kid acquiesces and agrees that a $10 stop watch will be OK.
We went to the register to pay. The shops owners were very sympathetic and asked us to come back in a week or so to allow them to check off all of the certificates that had been given out that day and that they would then give us another certificate. I asked the 8 year old if he could choose a small toy of less than $5 and then get the $10 stop watch when we come back in a week.
And, oh!, the quivering of the chin and the indignation of the 8 year old! The kid deserves an Oscar, an Emmy, and a Tony, and probably a Palme d'Or. I bought the bleeping ten dollar stop watch and thanked the shop owners and got the eff out of the charming shop before I was arrested for screaming at children while under the influence of gift certificates.
So, here's the thing: if you are my Facebook Friend, you will see that I posted a lovely little check-in at the toy store! 'Cashing in our Halloween Treats!' or somesuch. And yet, the sturm und drang is missing from the missive.
My perfect little Facebook life.
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