Some people brag about running marathons. I brag about fitting an entire toddler car bed in my car. It’s a thing of beauty. Not the car bed — that thing is a porch pick up off a sketchy Facebook yard sale group, with scratches and missing stickers, that was hastily, ominously wiped down with a Clorox bleach wipe before I got there.
Nope, it’s a thing of beauty that it fit in my car, with my sixty-five (luscious) cubic feet of cargo space. No one is going to give me an award for this even though it’s one of those small, weird things in life you feel you should get an award for. My dented gas-efficient Hyundai has as much cargo space as a mid-size SUV, and I ate my Wheaties for breakfast. It just feels good.
So here I am posting it to my blog. My long-neglected blog that I still love and intend to write millions of words into soon, one day, because lots is happening and I have lots to say.
I also lost two pounds this morning even though I ate 78 fun-sized candy bars this week. This Halloween was my favorite ever. I’ve had a tenuous, pained relationship with Halloween ever since my mom passed three years ago. When your mom is dying and getting dialysis on Halloween, it sticks with you and ruins everything forever, but then you have a kid and he brings joy back in bits and pieces.
This was the first year he trick-or-treated. To borrow a joke from my wife’s friend (on their own child): “Is it really a surprise that my 97th-percentile-weight kid figured out trick or treating in two seconds flat?”
Yeah, the kid figured out how to say trick-or-treat, rock the hell out of his costume, hold out his Halloween bucket (from McDonald’s, we do it legit), walk up and down the street, and even tack on a thank-you. I had kids older than him struggling with this as I handed out the candy.
He was Paw Patrol for Halloween — Marshall, specifically. It was the first year he was his own thing. In the past two years, he was something from our own childhood nostalgia (Ninja Turtles and Star Wars.) This year, he has begun that tiny but seismic shift into living his own childhood.
Hence, car bed. The kid is a car nut. I liked cars myself as a kid — but now I can see I liked them more as a mini-OCD collector. I liked having them, hoarding them, displaying them.
I still do.
I actually bought those for my kid — until they came in the mail and I saw how painfully beautiful they were. I couldn’t bear to see my kid banging that super sweet Mario van on the floor over and over.
We’re making him a “big boy room” that will be car-themed with the centerpiece crown jewel car bed. I’m going to order some racing decals for it to really spiffy it up. I wanted to order some Fathead car decals for the walls until I found out they’re $89.99. Why the hell do wall stickers cost so much? Here’s hoping the generic version I found on Amazon for a tenth of the price isn’t sad and depressing.
I always wanted a car bed when I was a kid. By the way. In case you were wondering. I never got one. Nor did I get a Teddy Ruxpin, Power Wheels Car, Basketball Hoop, Moon Shoes, or summer admission to space camp so I could fly in the anti-gravity machine. There’s a club that exists for 1980s kids who never got these things. We meet on Twitter on Mondays to complain.
Pretty sure my son will get me back one day when I refuse to buy him the holographic VR smartphone eyeball implant, and then I’ll sadly come back with BUT I GOT YOU A CAR BED. AND IT FIT IN MY CAR EVEN THOUGH IT LOOKED LIKE IT WOULDN’T….my voice is trailing off. Think I’ll go sigh now.