While packing for our recent trip to Colorado, I was frantically searching. Searching for our two identical garbage trucks. Our dear friends were meeting us in Colorado and they, too, have a two-year-old son, Cullen, born just five days before Henry. I thought it would be great for each of them to have an identical truck to play with to circumvent any potential truck envy. I could hear the possible conversations,
“MY GARBAGE TRUCK!”
While a perfectly great dump truck sat by, idling sadly.
So, before I even placed my clothes into their suitcase, before I made sure I had all my mountain necessities gathered, I broke a sweat looking for these plastic beauties. I had just seen them. I checked under beds, tables, in closets, in the garage, the backyard. I found one, but not the other. Still sweating, still searching, still no twin garbage truck.
I regretfully realized the twin truck was in some cosmic garage, gleefully hiding from me along with missing Lighting McQueen and Sally. Outsmarted by a plastic garbage truck, I brought a dump truck instead.
I spent 40 minutes looking for a truck before I finished packing for a one and half week trip. No question about how much I love my son and my dear Cullen.
Post Script: Henry and Cullen are two of the best behaved, well-mannered two-year-old boys I could fathom. They had an occasional, typical two-year-old moment, but not even the unmatched trucks detoured their enjoyment of their vacation and each other. 10-4 good buddies.