Milking the birthday with Artoo and Threepio
I go to the cupboard the other day and who do I find among the cans of cream of chicken soup and smoked ham but R2D2 and C3PO, the adorable droids from Star Wars?
They were two Lego figures just sitting there looking out at me.
I live in a house with a Star Wars-obsessed 12-year-old, so didn't really think much of it. I took them out of the cabinet, threw them among Wesley's toys in the living room to be taken back to his room when he theoretically cleaned up his mess.
I can relate to Wesley's toys. When I was a little boy I used to take my Star Wars action figures everywhere. They would scale the cliff face of my kitchen counter. They explored the jungle of my Mom's potted plant collection on the sun porch. They crossed the desert that was the school lunch table in a speeder I made from my green milk carton.
So, the day of Wesley's second birthday party arrived (third if you count the gift he got on the actual birthday), Christine hollers from the kitchen, "What happened to Artoo and Threepio?"
"I told Wesley to put them away," I hollered back from the couch.
"But they were for Wesley's birthday cake!"
Of course they were! Who doesn't like the plastic crunch of Lego figures in their cake?
The peanut butter frosting was to be a desert where the two droids are marooned. Wesley and Christine just couldn't believe how numb I was to think they didn't belong in the kitchen cupboard.
It takes about three remotes to run my TV. One is just used to switch between the PlayStation, where I watch Netflix and Hulu, and the regular cable. Two of them control mute and volume.
The other day, Sami-Jo was watching one of her noisy cartoons. Someone came to the door and I was trying to hear what people were saying, so I picked up one remote and hit mute.
Sami picked up the other and unmuted the TV. Johnny Test started shouting and playing guitar.
"What the heck?" I hit mute again.
She unmuted it.
We don't get many guests anymore. The house is just too dang loud.