It should come as no surprise to you that Gavin loves Toy Story. He asks to watch either Toy Story or Toy Story 2 at least 4.5 billion times a day. (Don't even get me started on Toy Story 3 and the creepy monkey, the evil CareBear, and the 30-minute death scene. So not a kid's movie. I'm still having nightmares about it.) He's pretty much obsessed with Toy Story, and my house looks like Toy Story vomited everywhere... but that's besides the point.
Initially, I thought it was "cute" when he started acting out the scenes from the movie with his little Buzz and Woody action figures - saying things like "To infinity and beyond" and "There's a snake in my boot" . . . but it quickly went downhill. It started out with small things: One day, I heard him call the dog "stupid" because someone in the movie calls their dog "stupid." I quickly addressed this by telling Gavin that we don't say "stupid," and if he does say it, he will go in time-out. (Ironically, it turns out that I say "stupid" about 100 times a day. How do I know this? Because every time I say it, Gavin's right there saying, "Momma, don't say stupid. Don't you say that ever again." Sorry, Gavin. Damn it! Interestingly enough, I don't get in trouble for swearing.)
Recently, we've had a problem with Sharpies. No matter where I hide them, Gavin finds them. What does he do with them? He writes all over Buzz's and Woody's faces. Why? Because in the movie, Andy writes his name on Buzz's foot, and there is an "out-takes" scene in the movie where Woody draws a mustache on Buzz's helmet. So, consequently, all of the Buzz's in our house now have mustaches (and much, much more). I tried to explain to Gavin that we don't write on our toys (which makes it sound like I have toys. But I don't. Don't even go there.). His response: "But in the movie, Andy writes on Buzz." Oh, okay. I'll just let you continue to ruin your toys then.
|Buzzes + mustaches.|
Now, you're probably thinking, "Oh, that's not so bad. A little marker on his toys. No big deal." Well, that's not the end of our little tale. About two weeks about, my basement flooded - like two inches of water, total disaster flooded. I had been downstairs with the shop-vac for over three hours, since 5:30 a.m., when suddenly I heard screaming from upstairs. (I made Gavin stay upstairs and watch Mickey Mouse Clubhouse while I cleaned up the basement.) I raced upstairs, and there is Gavin, sitting on the kitchen table, holding his finger, a pair of scissors at his side.
Gavin: Mommy, I hurt myself.
Me: What did you do?
Gavin: I cut my finger with the scissors. I have an owie. I didn't like that.
Me: You know you're not supposed to touch the scissors.
Gavin: But it hurts, Mommy.
Me: What were you doing?
Gavin: I cut Woody's arm off.
Why, you might ask? Because in the movie, they cut Woody's arm off.
Now, it's not like this was the first time he had attempted this. In fact, he had tried a few times. But, no matter where I hide the scissors, he seems to find them. If I hide them on top of the fridge, he gets a chair, crawls up on the counter, and gets them off the top of the fridge. He's naughty and resourceful. However, this time, he was actually able to cut Woody's arm most of the way off. Sigh.