Robots

Sometimes the antics are so hackneyed on HamannEggs that it often feels like I’m stealing them from 1980’s sitcom plots.  But almost everything that happens in this blog is true.  I just exaggerate my failures for comedic effect.

So now I’d like to regale you with the uber hacky “Dad won’t let sons play with toy he bought them” story.

It started off on the wrong foot.  I bought the boys two toys I secretly wanted.  These big robots based on a super violent video game I play nightly.  The boys are vaguely aware of the game, mostly because I yell at them not to watch me play it.  “You’ll get nightmares!” I’d shout as they try to get a peek at what makes their father swear so much.

But the prospect of a toy, any toy, was enough to make them behave like angels all week.  When we arrived at the toy store, the boys asked if they could possibly receive something they actually wanted instead of the robots, but I shut that down right quick.

When I shoved the boxes into their hands, I noticed in big letters “Ages 8 and up.”  But who really pays attention to those safety things anyway.

I raced home to open up the toys and maybe, just maybe let the boys play with them.  We opened up the boxes and an avalanche of teeny, tiny parts tumbled out.  I suggested Elijah build one, as he was a year away from being of the recommended age, and I build the other.

Within minutes, Eli was in tears.  He screamed, “I hate this!  It’s too hard to build!”

I didn’t hear him because I was too busy screaming, “I hate this!  It’s too hard to build!”

Hour one went by with no robot.  Hour two came and went with no robot.  I even called my brother and begged him to come over and help me with the construction.  By hour three, we had one robot built.

I proudly handed it to Luca and it fell apart into a thousand tiny pieces.  I banished the boys from the dining room by declaring loudly, “This is a dada job.”  Diana walked in at this moment and burst into laughter.

Well after both boys had lost any and all interest in the dumb robots, Steve and I had the little fragile bastards together.  We gingerly placed the robots on Eli’s bookshelf and informed everyone that these were toys for looking at and not playing with.

And then the arm fell off the green one.