Hueles A Caca, Mamá

While we're on the subject of egregious toy store transgressions, I would like to make a public apology to our gardeners. Every Monday morning, whatever the weather, a hardworking crew of Mexican guys shows up to mow and groom our lawns. And every week, while they are trying to do their jobs, The Roc grabs his battery-operated toy lawn mower and toy leaf blower (yes, that's right, toy leaf blower) and noisily pretends to be a gardener.

First of all, I want to point out that I did NOT buy the lawn mower or the leaf blower for The Roc. They were gifts. I'm just thankful no one has bought him the matching weed whacker or hedge trimmer. Yet.

Second of all, The Roc is not mocking you. He thinks you're fantastic. You are his heroes. From his perspective, you guys, the mailman, and the garbage man are the only people who ever do anything worthwhile around here.

Of course, while I am full of white guilt over the leaf blower, I have no similar compunctions about The Roc's toy medical kit or toy cash register. Maybe I should. Maybe if he took the cash register to the grocery store and pretended to ring stuff up, or tried to listen to his pediatrician's heartbeat on his plastic stethoscope, I'd mind. Especially if they made loud rumbling sounds.