Head Trauma And New Toys

I have caved. Yes. Me.

I bought my son a zuzu pet. And armour.

Why, yes! I did bang my head really hard this week! On Monday. I got a goose egg and a bit of a shiner. I went to pick something up off of the floor by my kitchen table, and as I had carefully placed my black bathrobe over the back of a chair (where it is SUPPOSED to be. Duh.), the chair was invisible. I went full force, eyebrow first on the corner of said wooden chair. When I came to, I decided I should probably clean my house. And purchase some brightly coloured padded leather chairs. Maybe a helmet.

I digress.

I have made it a rule as a parent to try to keep my child creatively engaged in the world. To that end, I only allow certain video games for certain lengths of time. I also do my best to steer away from ‘mindless’ toys (toys that need no active play). There are so many ‘push the button, watch it go’ toys on the market. Not good. I need him to use his brain. I need him to be able to think, problem solve and create. I also need him to not live in my basement until he is 45, watching television, smoking pot and compulsively masturbating while bitching about how ‘you done me wrong, ma’. It seems like such a small hope for a parent, doesn’t it?

I have a dear friend, Sophie, who has a couple of kids around the same age as my boy. Sadly, she is going through a divorce. I asked her how the kids have been faring. She said, “Good, I guess. But if the police start bringing them home when they are 13, I guess I’ll know I’ve failed.” (More on the Soph at a later date.) She is a great mom. This just goes to show you how high us moms strive. Please move out, don’t get arrested. Easy.

Back to the zuzu.

If you don’t know what that is, I’ll describe it for you.

It is a battery-powered, moving, babbling, squeaking, warrior hamster.

Who, I ask you, comes up with this shit?

I hate to be one of them ‘back in the good ole days’ but back in the good ole days, my parents shoved me out the door at 7:30 in the morning with a rock, a paper clip, an elastic band and a hearty “Go have fun with your friends, Dumbass! And don’t come home til 5:00!” (Of course I made a weapon. I had to kill my own lunch.) Maybe us kids were a bit violent and had a few more broken bones than necessary but damn it, we were creative! There was no time for mischief or drugs. We were too busy trying to stave off pirates and rapists with an elastic band, for gods sake!

This toy I caved and bought for my son? Good for nothing. Unless the impending apocalypse leaves freaky talking hamsters in charge. Could happen.

It is as creepy and weird as it sounds. And as I am slightly brain injured and tend to startle easily, if it crosses my path when I am not prepared, I swear I will tap dance on that motherfucker.Then I will replace my devastated son’s toy with a nice bag of elastic bands. And teach him how to kill his own lunch. And I will know I have made the world a better place.

Parenting is so rewarding.

*tearful sniff*