Mrs. Yoy: I can't build it. You can't help.
Uncle R was up from Orlando visiting the Yoys last weekend. As always, he brought gifts for the boys.
Big E's present was a wooden school bus that you build. With nails and an actual hammer.
Every morning this week, the boys have brought me the bus.
CAN WE BUILD THIS NOW?
I've been giving them the big time brush off because I am terrible at this type of thing. So is Mr. Yoy. We have our handyman on speed dial. Right above sushi take-out. We are TERRIFIED of any sort of tools. The only time I pick up a hammer is when I think we are being robbed and I need a weapon. Yes, my well thought out security defense is to hammer an intruder to death.
In a moment of weakness and exhaustion this morning, I promised we would build the bus after camp. And because these kids forget NOTHING, this was the first topic addressed when I picked them up this afternoon.
We all sat down on the floor of Big E's bedroom and laid out all the pieces and instructions. I even read them first. The boys were pretty disinterested in the hammer part. They were chomping at the bit to put on the stickers.
I spent the next 50 minutes pounding my thumb with a hammer.
Stabbing my finger with a nail.
And overall just losing my mind.
I HATE THIS!!
The frustration of not being able to nail this stupid bus together made me nauseous. Sweat was dripping down my forearms.
I paused for a minute to shoot Uncle R a nasty email about a no assembly required clause on all future gifts.
MOM, HURRY UP! WHAT'S TAKING SO LONG?!
Oh and now I'm getting heckled by the toddler crowd. Awesome. They do realize I'm a crazed monster holding a hammer, I think.
So here you go. Enjoy your tetanus infested school bus.
Look closely. You can see the nails sticking out. Winning!
Covering the nails with stickers.
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