The Diego Egg

Against my own better judgement, I decided that since both boys had been excellent errand runners, we would peruse the toy section at the PX as a reward. This has worked well for me in the past, and we've only ever escaped with the occasional attachment to a toy that could be coaxed out of grabby hands with a little sweet talking on my part. However, this last visit proved to be the point at which toys ascended from a "want" to a "need." Cal is a big fan of our favorite adventure-seeking, animal-rescuing, spanish-speaking amigo, Diego. In fact, next time you visit, you can expect to hear such terms as "Arriba!" and "Vamanos!" and "Freeze, Bobos!" although I'm pretty sure that the latter will not translate to anything beyond a 30 minute window on Nickelodeon. Our PX has a toy department the size of the toothbrush selection at Target, so Diego toys are in short supply. It just so happened, though, that Cal's particularly well-trained eyes honed in on something Diego related and despite my best efforts, I could discern nothing beyond the wail of, "I WANT THAT DIEGO EGG!" Um, egg? Where? It could not be found a second time; besides, I had no intention of making the purchase of anything cheap and plastic. So, I continued to push the stroller away from the toys, and Cal continued to make a scene that elicited stares, jaw-drops, and wincing from bystanders. I consoled, I lectured, I was firm, but I had to check out. At last, I gave an ultimatum: stop or you will get a spanking when we return to the car. Not to be deterred, Cal apparently decided that a spanking was well worth his freedom of speech, so I made good on my promise. Afterwards, I explained to Cal that it is good to express one's thoughts and feelings, but that it needs to be done so in the form of a discussion and not a temper-tantrum. With one more stop on my list of things to do, Cal "discussed" with me up and down each aisle of the grocery store that he wanted, neigh, NEEDED, that Diego egg. I listened, I affirmed, I ignored. "I hear you, Cal. I understand you want that toy. I know. I hear you telling me that you love that egg." He was relentless. 25 minutes later, this two year old had done his very best to convince this resolute mommy that life would come to a screeching halt unless that toy found its way into his toy basket. There was no giving in now. I loaded the groceries and the boys, and we finally headed for home. Desperation began to set in, so Cal again switched tactics. He was no sooner buckled in as he began to pray, very loudly, I might add, from the backseat, "Dear Jesus, I want that Diego egg. Heavenly Father, I reeeeeaaaaallly need that egg. I love that egg. Dear Jesus, please give me that egg." Over and over and over and over Cal petitioned God with persistence and devotion. My nerves were frayed and I was literally on the brink of tears, when sweet, quiet, patient Max, totally and completely lost it. He turned to Cal and shouted at maximum volume, "HE HEARS YOU, CAL!!" Apparently, He did, because a week later, with Cal still talking about that egg, we walked by a clearance rack at the PX, and low and behold, there, slashed by 50% was a blue Diego egg with Tapir on top and a whistle inside. I figured $1.27 was a small price to pay for peace and answered prayers.