After a plaything inventory over the weekend, we decided that
Mom and Dad the Twins were growing bored with our current toy selection, so we took Double Trouble for their first ever visit to Toys “R” Us. (Don’t worry, I was sure to alert them to the store name’s grammatical usage error. Papa is not inclined to raise any fools, you all.)
I had not been to a Toys “R” Us for years, and as I crossed the threshold, was promptly reminded how much I don’t wanna grow up. Although I’m quickly closing in on three decades of John, one of the perks of parenting is the justification for purchasing badass toys without appearing to be The Simpsons’ Comic Book Guy. So many groundbreaking advances in toy technology have been made since I was last in the market for toys years ago, and I attribute this to Toy Succession, a principle I am just now making up, positing that toys are improved as each generation grows up and applies changes they wish they had when they were children, ultimately allowing already-awesome toys to become uber-awesome.
For example, when I was a child Legomaniac, there were only three Lego genres on the market: Town, Castle, and Space. Now, a glimpse at the Lego section of a toy store features too many to count, including Star Wars, Harry Potter, SpongeBob Squarepants, and even Ninjas! Gone are the days of having to imagine that a black space helmet is a ninja mask. Just as the iPhone probably has “an app for that,” Lego has a piece for that.
During the course of the We Are Toys visit my wife and I got separated, which is easy to do amidst such fine merchandise, especially as a new parent fueled by the excitement of sharing it with our kids and getting that genuine, unbridled ear-to-ear smile we parents feed off like addicts. I was flying solo with the shopping car, while my wife was rollin’ hard with the double stroller and thus, the Twinfants. When I finally caught up with the rest of my family, I found my daughter glomming intently on a Sesame-Street-themed piece of cardboard packaging, with the back side facing up. “What’s that you have there, little girl?” I asked.
For those who are not parents, this is a fun thing we do when requesting information–directing the question to the baby who cannot reply sufficiently while the other parent (who actually knows the answer and, as an added bonus, can verbalize it) is in earshot.
My wife spoke for my daughter. “A stuffed Elmo. I showed it to her to see if she liked it and she just grabbed it and started chewing it.” As mentioned previously, the Twins, like legions of other half-pints, are card-carrying members of Elmo’s Army.
“Cool! Can I see it, little girl?” I inquired, reaching for it.
My daughter’s eyes welled up as I approached the package, and I heard the slow, growing rumble of a tiny freakout. “No, don’t!” My wife hissed. “I already tried to take it. She flipped out. I think we need to take it home.”
I know it’s still early to say this, but I don’t plan on being one to cave just because my kids will cry if I don’t buy them something. Having survived their first colds and the recurring perils of teething, I’ve become relatively desensitized to crying. I’m not saying I’m immune–it’s been scientifically proven that a crying baby upsets anyone–both parents and non-parents. All I’m saying is my adventures as a stay-at-home dad have granted me the power to keep a cool head, even in the face of tears in stereo. On this particular day, both kids happened to be teething hard, so I had no problem with my daughter gnawing on this item–whatever it was–as long as it would quell the day’s tenth tantrum.
“It’s that one,” my wife continued, indicating a colony of “My First Elmos” on the shelf.
I’d already resigned myself to purchasing Her First Elmo, adhering to the axiom of “You break it, you buy it,” or my favorite incarnation of the saying, which we found on a poorly-translated-to-English sign in an Asian restaurant a few years back:
I checked Elmo’s price tag and found a dollar amount to my liking–in fact, I would have willingly bought the toy anyway. No harm, no foul.
However, we came close to a meltdown when wrenching Everyone’s Favorite Monster out of our daughter’s clenched fists as choke-able cardboard/saliva flakes peeked from the corners of her mouth. With a swift, Indiana Jones switch, I thrusted a wad of toy keys into her tiny fingers just after extraction, with limited tantrum-mercial interruption, while my wife inspected her mouth for debris.
Having reflected on this occurrence, particularly my wife’s reasoning, I got to thinking about its implications.
On a completely unrelated note, there is a possibility that tomorrow, I will spontaneously decide to take the Twins to the Apple Store at our local mall. If, during the course of the purely-for-browsing-purposes-only excursion, I happen to show my teething daughter an iPad “to see if she likes it” and “she just grabs it and starts chewing it,” it will not at all be my fault, but I will tragically and begrudgingly be forced to purchase the item, as the pristine Feng Shui Apple packaging will surely be ruined.
Don’t tell my wife.
But if she does happen to get word, I will have the landmark decision of Daughter v. Board of ElmoCasing as a precedent.
As an added precaution, I may or may not slip my daughter the receipt post-purchase.
After all, I wouldn’t want her to make a scene. It may upset the Geniuses.
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If not, wow! Check out this piece of cardboard! That looks pretty tasty.
PHOENIX, Ariz. – In a reportedly packed surprise press conference late Wednesday evening, John Pseudonymous, esteemed author and CEO of Twinfamy made an announcement sure to rock the Internet to its very core: the unveiling of Twinfamy Logo 2.0, the site’s brand new game-changing brand.
“With the advent of Google+ and its pretty animated circles and colors,” Pseudonymous commented, massaging the unkempt stubble on his chin, “I found myself asking, ‘Where’s my plus? I can add, too. I was a Mathlete, for crying out loud.’”
Amidst an onslaught of hand-raising journalists and blurted, burning questions, Pseudonymous impressively set the entire throng at ease by directing the audience to the chilled teething rings that had been placed underneath their seats.
Over the faint sounds of glomming and lip-smacks from what Pseudonymous estimated to be “at least a kajillion people,” he continued. “See, when I first started Twinfamy, I had an idea of what image would best represent the site, but realized that not everyone has a pair of 3-D glasses at home, or especially for viewing on-the-go via smartphone, so I spent minute after painstaking minute crafting the logo you’ve come to love and have doodled over and over again on your Trapper Keepers.”
“However, as we enter Twinfamy’s third month, I thought it was time to reassess our visual marketing campaign, so for the past few weeks, our Graphic Design Division has been completely rebuilding, revitalizing, and digitally remastering the logo, optimizing it not only for HD viewing but also Dolby 5.1 Surround Sound. The new look may feel a little drastic and unfamiliar at first, but we’re thrilled with the results and without further ado, will proudly present it to you now. For the first time ever, I give you Twinfamy Logo 2.0!”
Met first with a collective gasp and scattered fainting, the crowd erupted in enthusiastic applause.
One member of the press remarked, “I just…I can’t believe it. For the longest time it’s been unclear as to whether your daughter was the stick figure on the left or the right, and now…well, let’s just say I finally have clarity and will be able to sleep a lot easier tonight.”
“Thank you, O Loyal Reader,” Pseudonymous replied. “But how do you know for sure which one is my daughter?”
“…The…the bow. Isn’t that a bow on the one on the right?”
“Yes, it is, but how do you know it’s my daughter? Can’t boys wear bows, too? Don’t you think that’s a little gender-biased to assume?”
Pseudonymous’s stone-faced demeanor dissolved into a chuckle. “I’m just messing with you. Of course my daughter’s the one in the bow.”
Hilarity ensued as an estimated kajillion burst into a hearty round of laughter.
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If not, please file a complaint with the Twinfamy Quality Assurance Division.