WHO YOU GONNA CALL?

My dad owned plenty of Big Boy Toys, but he only shared a few with us.

The lawnmower.

The shovel.

The rake.

Youth, teen, twenty-something- fall after fall, October through November- I raked leaves, collected leaves, bagged leaves, and sent them off to trash land. I still have the blister scars on my thumb to prove it.

Fast forward to forty-something. Our house is a sanctuary for Big Boy Toys of all shapes and sizes. I would list them for you, but no one can find them. Some of them rattle and roar. Others chip and chop. They all serve a dual purpose:

1. Deceiving my husband and children into thinking that work is fun.

2. Deceiving me into thinking that my husband must use them, because they are expensive.

Admission: It is not my husband's or children’s fault that I fell in love with a house that is the focal point for 627 trees. It is not their fault that the trees are 60 feet tall, and loaded with leaves. Nor is it their fault that I insisted on buying the house that is the lowest- lying property on the block, or that the neighbors have paid off the wind to blow only from the southwest between October 21st and November 18th.  

Fall settles in.  I rake, and I rake. I occasionally glance up at the trees, still half full of leaves, and I swear.  Then I get back in my groove: rake, collect, bag, dispose.

Here’s what my kids do: Hold a rake and watch me rake.

Here’s what husband does: Holds a little leaf blower- a way-too-noisy-for- its-size BBT- that allows him to listen to tunes, point & blow while I rake.

Fast forward to Saturday morning. Husband climbs out of the car carrying a very big box. His eyes are shining like a child’s eyes on Christmas eve. He is biting the inside of his cheek, attempting to control a smile that is determined to spread across his face. No doubt about it, my husband has just purchased a brand new BBT.

“What's that?” I ask.

“It's a little something to help you.”

“Help me what?” I ask, thinking: it's not little, and it's not going to help me, because after today no one will know where to find it.

“Help you with all these leaves. You’re going to love it!”

Husband slits open the box and pulls out an enormous mound of Styrofoam. He separates the Styrofoam, and lo and behold, it's cradling a BIG BOY TOY!  A leaf blower-so super blowing powerful- that you can't point it at small animals or deer.

  

“You’re serious?” I ask, reaching for my rake.

Husband cannot contain his glee.  “Yes!” he explodes.  “It's the same back-pack kind of thing that the pros use.  It will kick ass and make me feel like a Ghostbuster!”

Another toy that will soon be lost in our BBT sanctuary.

When I can't find it, at least I know who I’m gonna call.

QUING HEREBY DECREES: Every BBT purchased henceforth must come with an embedded tracking device.