Today I took my almost-three-year-old out to buy a G.I. Joe. Which of course no one carries. Apparently it is more politically correct to carry monsters, demons and terrorists in the action figure aisle than it is to carry an Army Man. But, as usual, that isn't my rant--even if it should be. Okay, I'll rant a little longer. What kind of country do we live in that our little boys can't have a hero that isn't a freak? I mean, come one!
Shake it off, Jamie.
So, he was going to get the GI Joe because he quit sucking his thumb. Yes, I resort to bribery. It works. There is a reason that parents use it. I've been bribing his sister with a Barbie for quite a while. He decided he'd quit sucking his thumb for a Barbie even if his sister wouldn't. I said that was okay with me. Hey, I figured I could buy him a Ken doll and still be telling the truth. Besides, I didn't figure that he'd actually quit. But he did. And his daddy said that Ken was out and GI Joe was the ticket.
But no one sells GI Joe.
Any-hoo....he carried his lamby into the store. Other mommy's will recognize the fated words lovey, blankie, maybe binky? I knew better. He knew better. He always loses it in the store and I charge around the store looking until I find it.
More than once today I looked down to find it perched over the rails of the cart, rescued it from certain doom and stuck it where I thought it was safe. It was not safe.
For more time than we were in the store shopping, I tore around the place looking for the lamby getting more and more irate. Growing hotter. Fuming. Both figuratively and literally. Finally, he said "sorry mom, I wost my wammy."
"Oh, you'll be sorry alright. You'll be sorry when you have to go to bed and you don't have it because for once someone walked by and threw it in the trash and you won't have it anymore." By now I'm crying.
The child didn't shed a tear. The child who has gone into hysterics over the lamby. That can't possible sleep without the lamby. He announced to his daddy over dinner, "I wost my wammy and they throw it in the trash."
He didn't even ask for it at bedtime. I still want to cry. I wanted to save it for him. Sniff. Sniff.
But of course he doesn't need it. He no longer sucks his thumb. If only it would work for his sister.