Q: The (overpriced, plastic piece of junk) Star Wars Droid Carrier that Dylan begged for Santa to bring him comes with a whopping twenty Battle Droids, each one with a head that decapitates approximately every 30-45 seconds. The beheading epidemic is so bad that even Dylan is intrigued. He keeps saying, “Mommy, isn’t it cool that I lose droid heads and then find them.” Cool isn’t the word I’d use.
I see a Droid amber alert in our future. Speaking of which, the toy came with a spanking new Obi-Wan Kenobi. The original Jedi is still on an awesome adventure (i.e missing in the hedge in our front yard), but “new” Obi-Wan is making himself at home. As I write this, I’m realizing there isn’t any math here, but the look on Dylan’s face when he ripped open the wrapping paper on Christmas morning and realized Santa brought him exactly what he wanted was….
A: …priceless (I know…still no math).
Q: How many drum sets is one too many drum sets?
A: One. (At least it’s electric and has a volume button.)
Drummer boy.
Editor’s note: I’ve offered to sign Dylan up for drum lessons, but he insists that he already knows how to play the drums. And the guitar. And the piano. And read and write music. Watch out Tiger Mom.
Q: How many boxes does it take to eat a garage?
A: This many.
The real Christmas miracle is bulk trash day.
The Runaway Mama by Jen Gregory 