February 08, 2003 - 11:42 p.m.
Another episode in the continuing saga of parenthood:
Merchandizing.
Ever since Zachary started watching television on a regular basis, I've steered him toward channels that don't run aggressive commercials, like PBSKids or Noggin. So far it's worked. He's had no demands outside of what might be in immediate eyesight while we're in a store. Once we're gone, he never mentions the ball, toy, or stuffed teletubbie of his desire again.
Until today.
I must admit, I started it. When I was Zack's age, I loved trains. If I had known about Wilbert Vere Awdry's Thomas the Tank Engine books then, I probably would have driven my mother crazy with reading them all the time. But I didn't discover them until recently and last fall began checking some out of the library to read to Zachary. One of his Christmas gifts was a video of "The Best of Thomas" from the British television series. And last week, while running some errands, I bought him a little die cast Thomas as a surprise for him after leaving him with my mother when I drove to and from Virginia Beach to close on the house. He loves it and Thomas has been choo-chooing all over the apartment. So, when we had to run out today to pick up a bag of dogfood that didn't make it onto the shopping list before Mike left for Ymir, I impulse bought a little red caboose for Thomas to pull. And Zachary got a good look at the display of Thomas and Friends toys.
We weren't home ten minutes when Zachary called from the kitchen (beside the door to the garage) "Momma, put your shoes on! I want to bring Toby home!" (Toby is the tram engine, #7)
I tried defense #1 in the Mommy handbook - distraction. "Not now, sugar. We're going to eat soon. Would you like yogurt or a cheese sandwich with your dinner?"
"No dinner. I want to get Toby."
Defense #2 - swap. "You have a new caboose for Thomas to pull."
"I want Toby."
Defense #3 - stonewall. "No, sweetie. We're not going out again today. You have lots of other things to play with. You don't need another engine."
And, Lord, I sound like my mother, twenty-some years ago, having the same discussion over Star Wars action figures... I couldn't resist calling later to tell her the story. She loves these little moments of pay back. But I'm only halfway through when Mom asks, "Which one is Toby?"
"The tram engine. He's brown, kind of boxy, square face."
"Uh oh." There's an ominous sound of rustling plastic bags on the other end of the phone line. "I didn't get that one. I bought him Annie, Clarabel, and James."
"MOM!"
