Okay, so last time, I had just gotten us through Saturday. We had done a bunch of art museums, eaten pizza, and finally crawled off to bed.
The next morning was Sunday. The plan was for us to get up early and, finally, have our delayed Christmas. We’d been looking forward to it ever since we left Georgetown. Today would be, then, The Day.
We had a quick breakfast and then passed out the presents to both kids and grandkids. I think we did okay with the kids. Better than I had feared, anyway. The reality is that giving gifts to your adult children, much less their spouses, is a hazardous business. It isn’t exactly a minefield. Or, if it is, then only a small one. With, say, little bitty landmines. That only blow off a few toes. You’ll hardly miss ‘em.
About the photos: First, Mooey. Yes, this is the rubber cow. In all its glory. Second, a back road near our AirBnb in Marfa. This will give you some feel for the town.
Third, and finally, here’s a shot of Martha at Halloween this year. She is in full Hello Kitty mode, complete with Kitty earrings.
But, still, there are a few dangers to be faced. You knew what they wanted when they were, uh, little. You had a decent guess about what they wanted when they were teenagers. (You had a guess, even if you knew damn well they weren’t getting that rapid fire paintball bazooka, the fuel-injected high-powered smartphone with surround sound, and that fake driver’s license from Guam.)
However...as adults...it is kind of hit or miss. You don’t know quite what they like anymore. And you don’t know what they really need. And you’re always running on, shall we say, Old Tapes. You remember what they used to like, twenty or thirty years ago, and those memories get in the way of their current wants.
None of this is bad. It’s just a fact. I remember it with my own parents. I’m sure David and Emily will, in time, experience it with Hazel and Miles.
But, anyway, this time, I think we did okay with Emily and David’s gifts. Not great. But Okay. I’m guessing the gifts we got them were accepted with good grace, perhaps chuckled at quietly in private, but at least not taken immediately to Goodwill. Maybe Goodwill was in their future, but not right away. Not, that is, on the drive home. Not Quick! Let’s find a dumpster and drop this before it grows!
So, some success.
The grandkids were better. They mostly liked their gifts. We did, however, have one gift that was both a hit and a miss at the same time.
This was Mooey.
And what was Mooey? you ask. It was a rubber cow, I answer.
Pardon? you say, looking (understandably) somewhat bewildered.
A rubber Cow. Or, more precisely, it was a “bouncy cow.” That is, it was a heavy, plastic toy in the shape of a cow which could be inflated and then ridden by a child. They could, in other words, bounce around a room on it. I’ll put a link in the following footnote to similar toys on Amazon.(1)
Anyway, Martha had seen one of these bouncy cows online and figured it would be great for Young Mr. Miles, who -- at two -- was just the right age according to the product literature. So we got it and presented it to him...
And he didn’t have the slightest interest in it.
But his sister, Hazel, thought it was the coolest thing since night baseball(2) and quickly appropriated it. She named it Mooey. As in Moo. As in mooing like a cow, but with “ey” at the end.
Which was fine...except...except...
Envision yourself in a relatively small contained space. Say, an AirB&B. There is only so far you can go inside the house. Oh, and it’s cold outside the house, so escaping into the open air isn’t really an option.
Now...add to all that...a child...a bored child...and energetic child...bouncing along every surface, through every hallway...in every room...
As in...boing...Boing...BOING...
...BOING BOING BOING BOING BOING BOING BOING BOING...
Boing...
See where I’m going with this?
Stay tuned. There’s lots more to come. And some of it involves boings.
Footnote :
1. Here’s some similar toys: https://www.amazon.com/bouncy-cow/s?k=bouncy+cow
2. What was the coolest thing *before* night baseball? Just asking.
Copyright©2024 Michael Jay Tucker
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