Screw It

Misri, just like any other toddler has tons of toys (yes, it's a growing epidemic). 50% of her toys are usually tucked in some place that we cannot find, 40% toys that she is not interested in playing with are spread out all around the house, the remaining 10% toys are in the place where they should be. Every once in a while, she manages to pull out one toy from that “50% bucket” from some obscure corner of the house. And when she does find one of those toys, it’s usually either broken or it’s run out of juice (you know, electrical juice). 

And so today, Misri again pulled out one of those toys from the darkest corners of the house. This time it was some kind of a weird table that doubles as a piano (I’ll never be able to understand how these product ideas are conceived in the first place). She tried to play with it as she usually does, but the piano wasn’t singing to her tune today. Of course it didn't, it’d run out of juice. So she started beating the cr@p out of it. Not because she was angry, but just because she thought that all the smashing and bashing will make somehow make it work (part of this psychology does linger into our adulthood). Siddhi was of course looking at her, after which she looked at me too. One look was enough, I knew I had to get up and help Misri out and save the piano from it’s annihilation or else I would eventually meet mine. So I got up with a sense of purpose and pulled out a new set of batteries. Every single time I replace batteries in Misri’s toys I get a bit nostalgic and scared. Nostalgic because it reminds me of how I used to pester my dad until he’d replace the batteries in my toys; scared because I know every single thing that I did to my Dad, she will do to me. It all comes back at you. 

Anyway, so I also pulled the screwdriver from it’s usual place (and surprisingly, it was actually present in it’s usual place). By this time Misri was hovering around me like little kids hover around iPads or any glowing screen for that matter. She of course wanted me to fix her toy. So I sat down and started working on her toy. But then she noticed the screwdriver in my hand. And then she forgot about her toy. Now she wanted the screwdriver. I could say from the look in her eyes. She grasped the screwdriver and pulled it towards her, and I set off with my usual “No Misriiiiii” in a rather imposing tone which I’m not usually capable of. That didn’t bother her much, she tugged at it again. I didn’t let go of it either, I pulled back harder. At this point she made her hybrid “crying and annoyed” face. If the crying won’t get you then the annoyed look would most likely scare you. But her hybrid face didn’t work on me (I guess bacteria and pests aren’t the only things that can develop immunity to stuff). Then she started screaming and revolting. I pulled the screwdriver out of her hands with brute (but safe) force, loaded the new batteries in the piano/table thing and hid the screwdriver. The piano started singing, but she didn’t care. Now she wanted the screwdriver badly, more so than ever before. After spending about five minutes fruitlessly distracting her I gave up and said “Screw It” (to myself) and gave the screwdriver to her. She gleefully accepted both the victory and the screwdriver, looked at it for a few seconds, then nonchalantly threw it across the room. “Screw it” I guess is what she thought too.