Confession 117: The Saga of Buzz Lightyear

About six months ago, Chris and I purchased a big talking Buzz Lightyear to help with our potty training for Garrett. If he pooped in the potty, he got Buzz. Well, months and months passed and no pooping in the potty happened. We packed up Buzz in our bedroom closet box and reshelved him. I was beginning to think that his permanent place in our home was going to be under a sweatshirt on my closet shelf. Yet, miraculously, Garrett did the deed the other day and was rewarded, in kind, with Buzz. Hallelujah! Praise God!!

Unfortunately, our celebrations lasted only long enough for Stephen to realize that Garrett got a big Buzz, and he, the self-identified Buzz Lightyear in the family, did not. You have never heard such screaming, wailing and gnashing of teeth. Had I been removing the kid’s toenails, he would not have carried on so. After some vain attempts at reasoning, the boys and I piled into the car in about 110 degree heat and headed off to “The Evil Empire” to get a little Buzz for Stephen. All was well, or so it seemed, but brothers will be brothers, and whatever one has, the other wants. As soon as the plastic was off, Garrett wanted to trade Buzz’s with Stephen for a little bit. Of course Stephen was all for this, until Garrett wanted his Buzz back.

We cycled through this throughout the day, and about 4:30 in the afternoon, I snapped. Stephen was throwing his hundred and sixtieth tantrum of the day and I was trying to start dinner. I sat Stephen on the counter next to the stove, which was not what he wanted. In his temper, he picked up a ceramic spoon ladle from the stove and hurled it across the kitchen, where it broke. I don’t know what it was about that little snowman ladle, but the loss of it broke open the waterworks within me. Stephen was deposited in his room and I returned to the kitchen to cry and clean.

Luckily, Daddy came in shortly thereafter and, as is typical, fixed everything within half an hour. After attempting to teach Stephen a lesson in sharing, he came into the kitchen and sighed. “It’s so unfair to Garrett,” he said, “for Stephen to get a big Buzz.” My heart sank, but he wasn’t finished. “But it’s so unfair to us to have to put up with that.” He indicated the small child screaming beyond his capacity in the living room. My heart leapt within me. After agreeing that Stephen would enter into a period of indentured servitude with us for a few months, and wishing him a very merry Christmas, he and Daddy were back on their way to “The Evil Empire” to get a second Buzz.

Stephen carried his Buzz Lightyear like a trophy through the store. He clutched it to him all the way home, and it hasn’t been far from his reach since. I know there are parents out there who could and would have handled this situation in a more appropriate manner. There are parents out there somewhere who could make their two year old understand the nature of the reward system, special gifts, and sharing. Yet, we are not those parents. There is not enough Zoloft in the world to help me cope with the level of tantrum that would have continually erupted from Stephen had he not gotten a Buzz of his own. Don’t think that the irony of this right after my last post is lost on me. Some child, somewhere, will get a big new Buzz Lightyear for Christmas care of Stephen, and Disney will profit even more from our boys, which is the entire point for Disney.

Thus concludes the saga of the Buzz Lightyear. Next, the saga of the dueling Buzz’s!

Blessings and Peace,

3 thoughts on “Confession 117: The Saga of Buzz Lightyear

  1. Sara says:

    Periodically. I wouldn't say we're there yet, but we're a lot closer than we were last week! Maybe in another six months we'll have it down. Do you know what I really think did it? I bought him some brand new Thomas underwear and told him if he pooped in them he'd have to wear his old, uncool Cars underwear! šŸ™‚

  2. Sunny says:

    You know, I really love your blogs. They make me laugh and also it helps me feel like a better parent, in that I am not the only one who, in a fit of self-preservation, gives in to a tiny tot's temper and throws whatever it is that she wants in her direction to be able to have the sanity to finish cooking the stupid mashed potatoes! Just remember – deep breaths, deep breaths…. Hmmmmmmmmmmmm…. (That's my best meditation hmm.)

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