Criss Cross Mommy Went Crash

When I was young, I would watch my brother push his little matchbox cars around the floor for hours. I was only a year younger than he, but I never understood how that could possibly be fun. Robby now pushes the pint sized cars around the house making them crash and occupying himself for hours. I still don't understand the fascination. I assume it is just one of those "boy things."

Since Robby received Criss Cross Crash for Christmas, my house has been transformed into a make-shift toy car parking lot. Although I appreciate that Robby loves his little wheeled treasures, I have come to despise them. The cars are small, making them difficult to see on our dark floor. I have crushed several with my prosthetic because I can't tell that I am stepping on one until I hear the familiar crunch of smashing plastic. Robby is so accustomed to hearing me step on his cars that now he simply refers to my leg as the "car crusher."

Every night I insist that Robby pick up his cars and put them away. Every morning, after drinking his cup of milk and watching Little Bear, he dashes out to the living room to free the toys from their storage bag. Within moments, I have dozens of little cars all over.

Yesterday one of my matchbox cars fears was realized. I was carrying a laundry basket down the stairs when I stepped on a car that was parked on a step. Because I had the misfortune of stepping on the car with my prosthetic, I didn't realize what I had done until the I was in mid-fall. Thankfully I landed on top of the dirty laundry.

Stunned, I didn't move for several moments after the tumble. I then realized that I was on lying on top of both Scott and Robby's dirty underwear. Motivated, I slowly dislodging myself from my now smooshed laundry basket and verified that nothing was broken.

Immediately, a new rule was instituted. No toys are allowed past the fireplace which is about three feet from the top of the stairs. The parking garage, i.e. steps, has been shut down permanently. I explained the new rules to Robby and he immediately began to comply.

I wrapped my wrist because, although I am certain it isn't broken, it is sore and swollen. Robby continued to play with his cars for the remainder of the afternoon. He complied with the new rules and no cars were parked on the stairs.

Apparently the "parking garage" was simply relocated. I discovered the new location when I was getting ready to eat dinner. I pulled out my chair and promptly sat on top of a firetruck and helicopter. Robby began to cry because "Momom's soft bum broke the helicopter's spinning thingy and now it can't fly."

This morning I am feeling the ramifications of my fall. My wrist is tender and swollen. My back muscles are sore and I have bruises in odd places, including on my "soft bum." Robby is still lamenting the destruction of his helicopter. Have I mentioned how much I hate Matchbox cars?