How Buzz Lightyear Gave Me a Migraine

Yesterday I arrived home from work to two squealing kids with a brand new Buzz Lightyear, the fourth in their collection. Fourth.

I looked at my husband with raised eyebrows as he grinned and threw his hands up. It was a toy aisle coup. It was two against one. What could he do?

Oh, I don’t know. How about avoid the aisle that is on the complete opposite side of the store from the section with groceries, just an idea.

If I’m being honest, I couldn’t give him too much grief about it since I am personally responsible for 50% of their current collection and I may have aided and abetted in the acquisition of the remaining 25% from grandma.

Naturally, now that they have Buzz Lighyear version 4.0, there can be no greater insult than to be asked to enjoy playing with any one, or even all three, of versions 1.0-3.0. Even though Buzz 3.0 was purchased a mere five days ago and Buzz 2.0 is small enough to rub elbows with the likes of Anders’ beloved Batman action figures in his toy Batcave. Not to mention Buzz 1.0 is almost identical to the newest one. Almost.

Behold! Exhibit A: The vast inadequacies of Buzz 1.0 in this side by side comparison, also known as how the absence of a plastic jet pack can ruin your life.

(Side note: you have no idea the negotiating and fast talking I had to do to convince Anders to relinquish him for the second it took me to snap this picture.)

So, I am typing this from the front lines of WWIII: The Battle for Buzz, which, if nothing else, is certainly the loudest war in history. In an effort to mediate, I have launched Operation Microwave Timer. This consists of me setting the microwave for five minute intervals during which one party waits patiently for the beep signifying their turn with Buzz while the other party enjoys their play time with him unharmed…in my dreams.
Anders has accepted and complied with the terms of this ceasefire perfectly. When the timer goes off he happily hands over Buzz and busies himself with something else until his next turn.

Unfortunately, Danica is well on her way to being tried for war crimes. She chooses to spend her five minutes sans Buzz kicking, screaming, and howling on the floor, pausing only to attempt sneak attacks to gain illegal possession.

Anders, if you ever doubt that I love you both equally please remember today. Today, when I could so easily take advantage of your tender age and poor grasp on the concept of time, when I am very tempted to spend only 20 of every 60 minutes instead of the even 30 listening to angry shrieks, I have resisted. I have kept it fair.

And let this be a lesson to you, Danica, mommy does not negotiate with terrorists.

Article Posted 5 years Ago

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