My cousin and super friend C had a surprise birthday party this afternoon for her father. And for a wonder, it really was a surprise! She had it planned down to the nth degree, too. Her three sons picked their grandparents up in a limo and drove around town for a while, and then brought them to the party, where a rented hall of friends and relatives were waiting to shower my uncle with presents and good wishes. C had a wall of old photographs, a gorgeous cake covered with fancy spark-producing candles, and enough food to feed your average emerging third world nation.

You did a great job, C. Now go home and crash for a day or two. You’ve earned it.

Oh, and Happy Birthday, Uncle D. He’s eighty years old and still cool.

When I got home, Belle and Zappa were sitting on the floor of the computer room (which used to be Zappa’s room) in front of the open closet, and surrounded by boxes and crates of their old toys. I was greeted with “Sorry, Mom, there’s no room for you in here right now,” so I established myself at the dining room table and graded papers for a while. It was awesome listening to them, as they dug through the bins of toys and found old favorites. They kept a running commentary on each toy they brought up. And the biggest shocker of all was the fact that when they were finished, they put all the boxes and crates back into the closet!

Then they went downstairs to the big closet under the stairs and dug through some more big bins of toys. It was so cool to listen to their comments and memories.

Although, when your young-adult children start talking about their childhood memories, it really makes a person feel old. I remember all those toys. I bought most of those toys. But I don’t remember their names. Belle and Zappa did. There must have been a thousand action figures and eighties memorabilia in those bins and crates.

They didn’t get out all the sweet dollies. Just the small toys.

Zappa put batteries in some of them; they still worked! I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not. He’s taking his extremely annoying, incredibly loud, green Martian ray gun with the glowing tip and all the different sounds of destruction, back to the city with him. I told him to be careful, as a glimpse of a plastic toy with a glowing tip and a mighty and majestic sound scheme might send some casual glancer into a frenzy of panicky cop-calling. He laughed but I wasn’t kidding. People these days are nuts. He can be foolhardy sometimes and I hope nobody freaks out if he attempts to transmogrify them with his glowing-tip ray gun. Yes, I am honestly worried about a battery-powered toy from the eighties.

They also dug up a whole bunch of Hub’s various Rubik’s puzzles. Belle could do those when she was pre-K, but I never did figure them out. There was even a newspaper article about Hub and Belle back then, about how he taught her to do the Rubik’s Cube in just a few minutes even though she was only about four or five years old. I’m sure it made all the newspaper’s loyal readers (both of them) feel not only personally smart but also hopeful about their offspring.

Hub teaches his math students how to do a Rubik’s cube.

For me, I found that breaking the fool thing apart and reassembling it with all the colors together, was the only way I could master it. But I don’t think that counts.

Even now I am not very good at puzzles, unless they are word puzzles. Jigsaw puzzles are torture, and I never could find Waldo.

Speaking of which, I found all Zappa’s Waldo books the other day. Sigh. He went through a brief Waldo-loving phase when he was about four years old. I still have his Waldo sheets and bedspread stored in the linen closet. And his Pound Puppy sheets. And his dinosaur sheets. Sometimes I get them out and launder them and put them on the twin bed downstairs in the family room, when we have overnight company. I just love to see those precious sheets again. Come on over. You can snuggle down with Waldo.

All those sweet eighties toys are back in vogue again. I love to cruise the Target aisles and see Care Bears and Strawberry Shortcake again. Although, they have changed Strawberry Shortcake into a gardening tomboy, instead of the chubby little cutie she is supposed to be. I refuse to buy anything Strawberry Shortcake on that principle alone. That is not her. Nope, not at all. And where are all her friends? Belle still has all those sweet dollies, too.

Let us all rise up in protest of the new politically correct Strawberry Shortcake. I don’t like her. And I don’t like the mentality that decided she was better than the original.

Bring back the chubby cutie in the dress and hat.

How come nobody important ever contacts me for advice before making all these stupid marketing decisions?

Pink dress on Sleeping Beauty my arse. It’s BLUE. BLUE, you stupid mindless Disney marketeers.

But I’ve done that rant before.

Hub and the kids have gone out for supper with the MIL. I have too many papers to grade so I stayed home. Blogging is my break.

I will punish myself by having no snack during this break.

BLUE, do you hear me? BLUE!

Dumb marketeers.