I’m writing to you from a place called Monkey Joe’s. It’s a place where kids can run wild with reckless abandon while their parents sit in massage chairs and use the free wifi to watch episodes of Breaking Bad on their laptops.
I’m thankful for this place because there aren’t THAT many at-home, indoor activities I can come up with. I thought there were. I was wrong.
Earlier this morning Luke asked me to help him make a jet out of a cardboard box. I said, “Of course.”
Two hours later we were both crying.
He complained that I cut the holes in the wrong places and that his whole body wouldn’t fit into it.
“That was NEVER a possibility!” I cried.
“Dad could make it work,” he said.
“Ok, look. I can attach something to the bottom of it so your legs don’t show.”
A short time later I noticed that our Yorkie, Baxter had retreated to a safe place- free from box cutters, hot glue and burlap. I should have done the same.
I’m no engineer, but I was pretty proud of the finished product. It had wings on either side. There were handles on the top for him to maneuver the jet from inside (I crafted them from pipe cleaners, dammit!!). It had two exhaust pipe thingies made from toilet paper rolls that stuck out of the back. Yes, the eye holes were too far apart, but I cut exactly where he had traced them. The final addition was the fabric that hung down to cover his legs, keeping him completely concealed in his “jet.”
Did he say, “Gee thanks, Mom!” or “I love it!”
His response was, “I can’t wear a jet with a skirt on it! I’m not a girl.”
I was done.
“Get dressed. Arts and crafts are over,” I said. “We’re going to Monkey Joes.”
Forget the Polar Vortex. I needed a massage and some grown up TV shows.