Growing-up in the mountains meant we had a neighbor with hundreds of bootlegged videocassettes in a neighborhood lending library, and I’d never had pizza delivered.
Jake and Nate have spent the first, impressionable years of their lives in the ‘burbs. They walked to school and served 700 trick-or-treaters and answered the door for Door Dash at least once a week. Now that we’ve moved to the country, we’re still helping them to understand why you wave to everyone you pass on the road, and coaxing them to venture further into the woods without feeling scared.
I admit, there are many city luxuries I deeply miss: Our friendly Door Dash delivery service, my Tivo (bableep bableep bableep), real internet, Comcast On Demand (I know Comcast seems bad… till you don’t have it), curbside recycling, and Pasta Pomodoro. But what I miss most of all… maybe more than good TV and sushi on my doorstep… our basement. Our cool, spacious, private basement. It was a haven I shared with no one other than Santa Claus himself. Last year I creatively repurposed an old rolling laundry hamper into a holiday present sorter. It was genius. And now that I’m living on more than three spacious acres with two Barbie-sized closets, Santa and I are getting desperate.
A few weekends ago I hit the local toy store anniversary sale on plastic bricks that allow you to build more flying spaceships. One never tires of building flying spacecraft. Given my basement-free, closet-free, garage-free, attic-free existence, I turned to the back of my car and the secrecy of the “privacy” cover.
The following Saturday, my stash was still stashed. I was super sly as I loaded-up the lawn chairs and soccer gear for the boys’ games. After our traditional lunch at “Jakes’ Place” aka Panera, I get Nate strategically into the back seat before I carefully open the back door. As Nate peers over the privacy screen at me, I hear a loud, gleeful voice exclaim, “Wow! Looks like Christmas in there!”
I turn toward the voice— a fresh-faced college kid, and menacingly “Shuuuuuuush!” him, my saucer-sized eyes shooting daggers from behind my sunglasses. Poor kid was instantly vaporized.