On to Some Lighter Fare!

Hi there.  It has been brought to my attention that that last post re: Israel was a little depressing (sorry for panicking anyone, we TRULY are fine here!!), so I have decided to move on to some lighter fare.  Like psychoanalyzing my children based on their reactions to their Hannukah gifts!  (See, I used the word.  I'm not scared.  That was a bit.  For entertainment.  So stop worrying about us.  Please!)

Ok.  So two mornings ago, I presented the girls with matching pink Barbie remote control cars.  (I realize that the car in the photo says "Emily" on the front, and I don't know what to tell you because the picture on the box was clearly Barbie.  My best guess is that she, too, goes by a Middle East alias.)  I chose the same item for Sushi and Screamer because, with very limited exception, having two daughters so close in age means near-inevitable war if one is ever in possession of a pink- or purple-colored object and the other is not.  This does not mean that every single Hanukkah gift is delivered in duplicate, but it helps if presents are always equal in desirability if not in kind.

Anyway, I picked up these cars because they struck me as a relatively foolproof means of keeping the kids out of my hair for at least a few minutes; Sushi and Screamer are now old enough to play with each other for small periods of time (until, predictably, someone bursts into tears over a minor violation of play etiquette).  I didn't pay much attention to the quality (what nice Newish girl could pass up a bargain?) and I certainly didn't pay any attention to their respective operating frequencies (obvious hint: this will be an important detail later!).  I was just happy to cross off another To Do item on my long list of 16 required presents (that's 8 presents apiece for the 2 older girls; Baby does not have standing to expect Hanukkah presents until she is old enough to complain about not getting any).

At first, the cars were a big hit: Sushi stuck her tongue out as the wrapping paper was coming off (she expresses enthusiasm not unlike a puppy), and Screamer made her phony dropped-jaw astonished face, which I appreciate because even if it's exaggerated it makes me feel good about my gift selection.

And then the trouble began.  No sooner were the batteries installed than we realized a tragic flaw in the vehicular duo: both cars were operating on the same frequency, even though the remotes' frequencies were distinct.  This meant that Sushi's remote controlled both cars, while the other remote was powerless over anything other than Screamer's increasing confusion as she flicked the switches back and forth to no avail.  Now Daddy privately assured me that Screamer was none the wiser, and that she was excited just seeing her car when it was zooming around (at Sushi's whim)... but I just kept picturing her puzzled little face as she stood in the corner, focusing so intently on moving those controls, while her car sat motionless at her feet.  Damn that convenience store that once again left me high and dry! WHO is rifling through the children's toy section and removing tricycle parts and mixing up cars with their remote controls??  Is there now any doubt that that establishment is unknowingly harboring some wayward employee who truly dislikes children???  At that moment, I silently promised Screamer that her awesome powers would soon be restored.

This morning my day of atonement arrived: after we lit the Hanukkah candles, I sat the girls down in front of their wrapped boxes and explained that these gifts were what we grownups call a "do over."  (Never mind the compelling argument that the new cars should not have counted against the 8-present total; I have to keep reminding myself that these kids have no idea of whether we are on the 3rd night of Hanukkah or the 87th.)  I said that the Barbie (Emily) cars were no good, that they didn't work right, and that Daddy and I wanted them to have even better cars!  The wrapping paper flew off and I braced myself for the squeals of glee.  After all, these new cars were bigger! brighter! and designed so that in the aftermath of a crash in to the wall, they would bust apart only to reconfigure themselves moments later!  how cool!

But, as you might have guessed, the glee never came.

Instead, Sushi crumpled into herself and whimpered, "These are boy toys."

My heart broke.

No, Sushi, these are not "boy" toys!  They are better toys!  Stronger toys!  Faster toys!  More sophisticated machines for you, the more sophisticated driver!

She wasn't listening.  Her head was swirling in a daydream of pink and purple.  I could not get through to her.  My heart broke some more.

Instantly, I folded, desperate to salvage the moment. "That's okay!  If you don't like this car, you can trade it in for something else!"  (This tactic, which I have used in the past, gives Daddy a nervous tic: "We are not Toys 'R' Us!")  And so Daddy put his foot down, announcing that there would be no trading in, this was today's present, just look at how excited Screamer is, maybe you will feel better about it later, let's get dressed and go to Starbucks (the cure-all for adults if not children).

I whisked Sushi aside for some guerilla psychological counseling, calling upon every Women's Studies class I had ever taken for my ammunition.  There are no such things as "boy" toys and "girl" toys, I explained, there are just "toys."  Think of that tool kit you so enjoy-- some might call that a "boy" toy, but you love it.  (A warning bell rang in my head: with this new information, she'll probably never play with the tool kit again.)  You should never judge anything before you try it, after all, sometimes the "boy" toys and sports and activities are way better than the "girl" counterparts.  I want you to experience everything in life!  Seize the day!  Gender equality!  Girl Power!  Spice Girls!  Madonna!  Hillary Clinton!  (ok, ok, I stopped myself before we got to Hillary, but I reserve the right to give the girls a primer in Hillary's historic accomplishments another day.)

She was unmoved.  "Mommy, girl toys are pink.  Boy toys are for fighting and I don't like boy toys."  

I was defeated, a present-picking failure.  I had 8 obligations to my kids and I had been unable to meet my measly 8 duties.  I promised to revisit the gift trade idea with mean old Daddy.  

Thankfully, though, a parental showdown was not necessary in the end.  A stroke of inspiration produced the hard-earned compromise depicted above: a "boy" toy with "girl" decoration.  And Sushi loves it.  Surely the manufacturers of the "Invinzer: Crash Zones" truck (what does Invinzer mean, anyway?  I'll have to ask a boy) did not have a ballerina hood ornament in mind when they tricked their toy vehicles out with "monster rubber tires" and a capacity for 250 MPH "scale speed," but in my world, the monster truck industry has never looked better... or prettier.