We were in the dollar store the other day, and the boys fell in love with the display of little Christmas snow globes. I told them they could spend their own money to get one, if they wanted to, but then they wouldn’t be allowed to buy their weekly supply of Pokemon cards. I was secretly pleased when they each decided to buy themselves one. As they flipped them upside down and back again, I explained that the globes were glass and that they’d have to be extra careful in taking care of them. They were not a toy to play with, but a decoration to admire and handle carefully.
You can probably guess where this is heading.
We were in the van, not three blocks from the dollar store, when I heard the distinctive tinkly sound of breaking glass. Simon had forgotten his snow globe was in his lap and it shattered upon impact with the floor of the van, leaving a puddle of wet flakes of plastic snow and about three million slivers of very thin but very sharp glass.
We stopped at a gas station and vacuumed up the debris, and I shushed Tristan a few times as he made pointed observations along the lines of “It’s a good thing I didn’t drop my snow globe, eh Mom?” I could tell Simon was upset, and I knew that the globe had been dropped through inattention rather than carelessness. He was so forlornly disappointed that my heart ached for him. When we got home, I took Simon aside and promised him that the next time we went to the dollar store, I’d buy him a replacement.
Yesterday, we happened to be at the same plaza, so we made a special stop to buy a replacement snow globe for Simon. The cashier carefully wrapped it in paper and placed it in a bag, which Simon carried with all the careful reverence a four-year-old can muster. We talked on the way home about how snow globes are really more for looking than for touching, and that since we now know how fragile they are, we would be extra careful when touching this one.
Again, you can probably see where this is going.
I was nursing the baby this morning when the boys were getting dressed. I’d already issued two firm reminders to Simon to get moving, but he was dawdling. Suddenly, he came running into my room whispering, “I’m so so sorry, Mommy. I’m so sorry. So sorry, Mommy.” The genuine sincerity of his apologies would be a lot more endearing if I didn’t hear them several times a day lately. He’d tapped the two snow globes together to hear the noise, and shattered not his but Tristan’s snow globe, this time littering the floor between their beds with a puddle of plastic snow and three million shards of glass. AND, he was still in his pyjamas.
I was flummoxed as to what to do. I’ve been having a very hard time with Simon these days not listening to my instructions, especially with no-brainers like “Don’t touch.” (He almost burned his fingers on a boiling pot of Kraft Dinner the other day, even after I told him to be careful. It’s like living with a toddler all over again!) I’m not going to keep replacing the damn snow globes even at the affordable cost of a dollar, but I felt bad now that it was Tristan’s globe that had been broken through no fault of his own. In the end, Beloved came up with the idea of having Simon pay Tristan back out of his own allowance for the dollar spent on the snow globe.
I thought that since Lucas isn’t crawling yet, we’d be safe putting out the more delicate Christmas stuff this year — stuff we’ve had no problems with for the last year or two — but now I’m beginning to rethink that.
Four is a tough age, you know?