Remember last week when my boys donned masks to clean out their room? We did a terrific and satisfying purge of all the crap they'd squirreled away for years. We boxed up Legos, threw away ancient McDonald's Happy Meal toys, cleared away baby board books and otherwise made the place swanky.
When I left on Thursday for my trip to D.C., the room looked fantastic.
Evidently, while I was gone, the neighbors down the street who are getting a divorce and moving, opened their house up as a sort of boys' rummage sale. Except it wasn't a sale, and everything was free. When I finally arrived this afternoon after a two day odyssey whose origins are still unclear (mechanical failure? storms in Chicago?), I was greeted by The Big O's new acquisitions.
A plastic Target bag filled with old magic trick shit
A broken box of faux Tinkertoys
My bed covered in paper cocktail parasols
Oliver's chest covered in enormous trophies for Chess and sports that Oliver doesn't play
and a six-foot deflated plastic palm tree
It made me sort of want to cry, but perhaps it's because I was stuck in DC with the LA blues again and now have to hit the ground running. Or maybe it's just bourgeois complaining --