Don't Panic

Ever since the playhouse got its final coat of paint and we ceremoniously crashed the sippy cup of apple juice against its doorway, (Note to self: perhaps this has something to do with our ant problem), a dark cloud has moved in above my head.

What if, after all of my father's hard work, and all of the expense, the kids don't like it?

I mean, it wouldn't be the first time. In fact, I would say more often than not, my toy selections are humongous duds. For example, when I was in Charlotte, I bought these cool can stilts:



I thought Owen would be all over it. It's slightly reckless, noisy, and Joel-free. These are the ingredients for success, or so I thought.

Of course, Owen uses them as large purses to carry his toy cars around and about. When I demonstrated the coolness: I'm tall! I'm a stompy, noisy monster! He looked at me with pity and said, "Mommy, don't panic."

It's hard not to panic when you see cool toys serve the same purposes as grocery bags, time and time again.

So, back to the playhouse. For awhile, Owen was content to fill it with scrap pieces of wood, piling them perilously in the corner. This made it not only Kaczynski-esque in its creepiness, but completely non-functional because nobody could sit in the thing.

One evening, the extra wood mysteriously "disappeared." Possibly, the wood escaped to the Island of Annoying Misfit Toys. This is the final resting home of many of the boys' especially loud, violent, or choketastic playthings.

Once the playhouse was clear, and the weather dipped below preposterous levels, we ventured outside once again. Thankfully, Owen has found games to play. I'm not sure what these games suggest about my daily activities--feel free to share your ideas.

Game #1: Grooming

Owen will first "cut" my hair, complete with a clippers and a close hot shave. Clearly, he thinks that everybody gets his or her hair cut at places that start with Great and end with Clips.

Next, Owen will tend to my eyebrows. He'll have me sit down, and he'll pretend to put the wax on my brows, and then will "tear" off the strips, saying "shhhpt" to indicate the hair removal. He'll "tweeze" the errant hairs and then say, "That's much better."

Thank God he's never witnessed a bikini wax.

Game #2: Nourishment

I'll stand by the window and say, "I would like a ______(fill in the blank foodstuff)."

Owen will make it, with sound effects like "boink!" and "hee-haw" before saying, "Here you go!" and handing me an imaginary something.

He'll then say, "That will be twenty-five dollars!"

"What?" I respond, "That's highway robbery!"

He'll pretend to think about it and say, after great thought, "Okay...twenty-FOUR dollars."

He drives a hard bargain. But for air this good, it's hard to argue.

Game #3: Health care

Owen will pretend to be all sorts of health care professionals, including:

Dentist: "Let me count your teeth. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, sixty!"

Eye Doctor: Since the only eye doctor he has ever seen is Joel's pediatric ophthalmologist, this game primarily involves him looking at my eyes and making clicking and whistling sounds. My eyes are always fine, but I wonder if there is a dolphin out by the Atlantic, feeling strangely drawn towards the Chesapeake Bay...as if a small child is speaking its language.

Beware of those dolphins, Owen.

Ear-Nose-and-Throat-Doctor: He looks in one ear, "No potatoes." He then looks in the other ear, "Just a little bit of potato."

Pediatrician: "You look sick. You need to drink some snow-flavored medicine."

Although these games are, admittedly tedious after awhile, I am happy that the playhouse is getting some use. After all, it's awfully big to be a purse.