June 15th, 2014
This week, Buggie broke his first window.
When I initially wrote this post, I simply wrote “a” window in that first sentence. But I suspect that it will not be the last time my pint-sized hurricane will shatter glass so I revised it.
The kids and I spent the week at my parents’ house for our annual summer kid-fest. I drive up with them and we spend a week doing non-stop fun things, eating donuts and ice cream, and frolicking in the sun. It’s a blast. And it’s exhausting. And the kids are pretty wound up so sometimes things break.
Like one of the panes in the bay window of the living room.
No adult was present for the incident – we heard it from the kitchen – but from what I pieced together at the crime scene, Buggie launched himself off a big wooden rocking chair and the recoil smashed the frame through the window.
Whoops. That’s my son for you. I lived in this house for eighteen years and never broke a window. Buggie has spent a total of three weeks here and managed to do so.
Unlike when Miss Mouse colored in a library book, I was not thrilled by this misadventure, but it did present a good learning opportunity. A mightily-repentant Buggie was given two options for how to “pay” for the broken window: sell two of his super hero action figures to his grandparents or miss a morning at the library to do chores around the house.
The decision was not hard for him:
Although he was initially enraged to miss a fun activity and spent ten minutes throwing himself around the house shouting, he actually settled into the tasks and seemed to enjoy himself. He took pride in the work and in being able to set things right with his beloved grandparents.
We moved the chair away from the window and suggested that he keep his leaping to a minimum when hanging out in an exquisitely decorated Victorian home. He ignored this suggestion (I found him practicing flying tackles from the couch onto a large stuffed panther later that afternoon) but there were no further casualties.