Outside toys

Li'l Otis enjoys the yearly $100,000 toy allowance made possible through a deal worked out by the grandparents, a couple of small foreign governments, and a sweatshop in Juarez. We're having a hard time finding space for all the sports equipment, books, and heavy equipment replicas. There's also the variety of blocks, the likes of which have inspired me with some regularity to throw the goat and scream, "Rock out with your blocks out, buddy!" He humors me, throws his version of the goat, and goes back to doing something a little more mature.

If the compact with Antigua and Figi ever goes south--or the the Juarez sweatshop ever runs out of yeyo--you might think my kid would get bored. Methinks not. If the constant infusion of new entertainment options were to dry up, I'd simply need to live in a place...well, much like I live now. That is, a place where I can go outside pretty much all year without fear of hypothermia or the Minnesota Vikings.

The past few days here have made me a little more grumpy about going to Monte Carlo. That's because it's 50 degrees on the Cote D'Azur and it's 80 degrees on the slopes of Mt. Otis. Under the new Spring sun, my son can find toys in just about anything. Rocks are his favorite, likely because of their multi-use functionality. He's a utilitarian kid. We spent most of yesterday outside in various parks.











It was 8:30 this morning when I let the dog out for her morning constitutional. I stepped out on the back deck in my bare feet. The kid followed me out in his socks. We stood and waited for the mutt to finish up. The air was warm. The moment was short but perfect.

"I have to go work for a while," I said. "You and mommy are going to take me to the airport, okay?"

"Where are you going?" the kid asked.

"A place called Monte Carlo," I said. "Can you say Monte Carlo?"

"Look! A bee!"

And that was that.

With any luck, the toy cartel will keep my kid in good spirits while I'm gone. I assume the sun will still be shining up my return.

Wheels up, cowboy.