The tippy-top item on every letter Bugsy wrote to Santa this year (three that we know about) listed: Furby Boom.
I had a Furby eons ago - I think it annoyed me until I regifted to my niece, Miranda. So I know what a Furby is. I also knew that Bugs wanted the black and white zebra one and, as it appeared, so did about 75% of the Furby buying public. The only way to acquire said fuzz ball was Amazon, of which I am an unofficial, undocumented, major shareholder - or should be. My Amazon account dates back to the days of... Well, let's just say pre-Furby uno.
Supply and demand. I knew I could snag the rotund zebra ball in time to pack the sleigh but would it cost me an arm and a leg above its uglier, less desirable siblings? It could have but I have age, patience and a quick iPad finger. She sees! She shops! She scores! Now all I needed was Santa and Christmas morning. Oh, and a camera to capture rapturous expression on the Bugmeister's face.
About a week before Christmas, LL Bean sends a catalogue. I don't do LL Bean but they know that and evidently my business is so vital to their bottom line that they include a '$10 off any purchase and FREE guaranteed Christmas delivery shipping'. Okay, so I'm a sucker for free shipping. The problem was I don't need sub-zero apparel here in the North American Sahara. Wait a minute! What's this?!? OMG!! It was right there on page 3: an ice cream ball! Bugsy has bounced me bonkers over that ball since last spring, badgering and begging until I felt like a bruised banana. All because of the four little words parents dread most: "As Seen On TV". No way was I gonna shell out two easy payments of $19.95 plus $9.95 shipping and handling. But here it was on page 3 for only $19.95 - minus my $10 off coupon AND free s&h. Wellll, my fat little fiingers couldn't type fast enough!
The later you get to sleep on Christmas morning is a pretty accurate guage of your kid's age. This year we didn't get the wake up scream until 7:45. Sniff. Seems like only yeaterday it was in the 5am range. Sigh.
And I still forgot the darn camera.
Anyway, Furby was a hit for about 10 minutes or until she unwrapped The Ball. Now would be a good time to explain that The Ball looks like two halves of a geodesic dome. Hollow but for a pint sized metal cup embedded in one end, into which goes a pint of 1\2 & 1\2, 1\3 cup of sugar and a capful of vanilla extract. (She has yet to experiment with any of the other 999 recipes in print so small it requires a miroscope to decipher.) You screw the lid on, flip it over, pour ice and rock salt into the hole on that side, screw that lid on and start rolling The Ball.
When I was a kid, homemade ice cream required kid power of a different sort and my arms still ache from the memories. The Ball, by comparison, is a piece of ice cream cake. I suggested getting the dogs to roll it around but Spike is too old for such frivolity and Maxi can't even see over the darn thing. Bugsy measured, poured, assembled, sat on the floor and rolled it to Art's feet, positioneded at the base of his recliner, and he'd roll it back. Fifteen minutes later...voila! Ice cream. Bugsy was over the moon. Art complained it was hard work. I proclaimed it 'good enough to eat'.
I haven't seen Furby since Christmas.
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