Super-Glue, scotch tape, a dedicated drawer of batteries, doll-house sized tools and some engineering mom magic have saved many of Cole's toys from landing in the trash. I make a diligent attempt at salvaging whatever truck/car/engine/digger has malfunctioned, lost a part, stopped turning or whirling or is just dying a slow death due to its much-loved status. I swear that the quality control they use for testing the 3-5 year old BOY range of toys doesn't come close to reality. How many stairs do they drop them down? Do they truly put them through front end "crashes"? Are they stepped on repetitively? Is every part that moves twisted and turned a billion times?
Typically he is my captive audience as I mumble and moan inwardly (or not so inwardly) trying to either jury rig a fix, remove a screw the size of a pin head or prevent Super-Glu from touching anything other than the intended target (I'm successful 6/10 times on that since the parts are so tiny that the pliers slip 6/10 times).
Cole peppers me with questions (as I continue to try to keep my potty mouth from actually escaping my lips) and I do my best to describe what I am doing and why since he is so curious about EVERYTHING. Sometimes I can give the toy back after it has been through the "mom shop" but other times I have to prop it up to dry or set. Cole looks longingly at it and asks every minute "is it ready yet?"
Cole is as careful as a four year old boy can be expected to be with his things but unfortunately he is learning that sometimes things cannot be repaired, that his mom will give a valiant effort but in the end, sometimes we have to just simply say good-bye and adopt the next item with wheels from the playbin. Luckily, though he does have allegiance to a handful of toys, he is still young enough that he gets over his grief quickly.
So the other day, I hear him tinkering around downstairs while I am prepping dinner. As most moms can relate to, the normal sounds of play are what we unconsciously "listen" for. No matter how involved we may be in whatever activity we are engaged in, if it gets too quiet or the "sounds" are unfamiliar, an immediate investigation is required.
It had gotten eerily quiet and when I called down to him, he didn't answer BUT I could hear him moving around. I dropped the onion I was chopping and grabbed the kitchen towel, ran down the stairs and found Cole near my desk with a truck in his hand whose bumper had come off. He gave me a sheepish smile until I started laughing uncontrollably whereas a huge grin erupted on his cute mug. He had taken the scotch tape from my office and torn off about 25 itty bitty pieces and plastered the bumper back on. He held it out to me and said "look mom, I fixed it"!! The bumper was still hanging off precariously but he was all proud of himself for taking the initiative. I was so proud of him for doing the same that I felt tears well up in my eyes.
No comments:
Post a Comment