Regular Life

Saturday, we told Benjamin it was his day to spend his $50 Christmas money from his grandparents (nod to commenter “Pops”). He had been pretending to play store at school and at home, so he had at least an inkling of how money worked.

He could go to any store he wanted, and after we named a few, he unsurprisingly chose the one with “Toys” in its name.

We barely made it around the U-shaped, toy-lined gauntlet at the front of “Toys R Us” (backward “R” implied) before he had chosen items totaling $50.

“Now, Ben, what you have in the cart costs $50. You can keep looking, but we’ll have to put something back if you find something else you want.”

“The swords,” he said. He had chosen two foam swords from the pool accessory section.

I deftly drew them from the cart and leaned them against an endcap nowhere near where he’d found them. “Okay, now you still have $12 left.”

He quickly found more things he wanted, but the cart never held less than $50 worth of merchandise. Instead of whining that he wanted all the things he liked, he calmly traded out the old selections for the new and continued looking. He seemed to understand that he had only a limited amount of money (albeit substantial for a little kid) and we were not going to exceed it.

Shannon and I were disappointed that the Leapster game cartridges had been picked over without restocking. It was one item Ben had mentioned he wanted, but he never blinked when we said they were out.

The Elefun, which he had played at his cousin’s house, was the first item he picked, and it remained in the cart through all the trades. It also was the only thing that required batteries.

His other selections? A Playmobil Pirate’s Hideout (with the dreaded tiny, plastic gold coins) and a hard plastic case for his Hot Wheels.

On Sunday morning, Ben woke up at about 6:30. “Daddy, did you put together my pirate set last night?”

“Go check the coffee table.”

He ran from our bedroom.

Ben played with the pirate set for four straight hours, breaking only for breakfast with his old man. I played some, but also kept an eye on old Super Bowl highlights shows. I’m a sucker for those narrated actioners that build suspense with orchestral music.

Later he put all his Hot Wheels cars into his new case, and then filled it out with a hodgepodge of brands. I told him that he could save some room for the cars he might get in the future, but stopped short of telling him he had ruined the case by including inferior brands. It probably doesn’t make much difference, because the quality seems to have dropped since I was a kid, but I never would have allowed my cases to be tainted like that.

We had neglected to think of batteries for the Elefun, and Ben understood it would have to wait.

Next, he wanted to play Superman, so I used a binder clip to cinch a hand towel around his neck. The towel draped to just the right spot on his legs, and clothespins just didn’t have the holding power Ben’s rambunctious play demands. Sure, it was a yellow towel, but you work with what you have.

“Daddy, could you please play the Superman theme?” he said.

I proudly strolled over to the entertainment center and popped in my John Williams hits CD. Our DVD player can’t repeat a track, so while I watched TV and helped Shannon unload laundry from the dryer, I had to lean out occasionally to aim the remote control at the player.

Ben jumped, ran, and even saved his mommy from my villainous clutches.

So, in the end he enjoyed his new toys — two that didn’t exist when I was a boy and one that I cherished for years — and also played like a boy might have as far back as the late 1930’s, pretending to be a superhero fighting injustice.

And he learned a little about money and prioritizing in the process.

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