Zubin just spent the last few days ignoring his $$$ worth of toys and opting to play with the empty box of our new humidifier. Turn away from him for a second and he starts sliding across the room to the box, laughing the entire way. Makes my weekly “new toy” trips to Buy Buy Baby seem kind of silly.

A fellow blogger recently posted about the cost of raising daughters and the various goods and services marketed to them. Homegirl was also schooling me on the latest MTV series “Sweet 16s” that she finds so side splittingly funny that she had to call her brother in California when she saw it last.

It reminded me of an episode that took place about 3 years ago: M and I had just got married and we had invited the one and only couple we were friends with over to our apartment. They brought their 2 kids with them. Our first company under 4 feet tall. Upon entry, the older of the two sons who was 6 or 7, did a round of the apartment. 650 square feet, and he begins a thorough examination of everything. My friends/his parents non-chalantly proceed to open bottles of wine, saying he’ll be fine (wifey and I are freaking: “what can he play with? We’re never having kids right?”).

About 10 minutes later, I notice that the search mission has been aborted and peer over the couch to see what is up. I watch him open up a flat box. We were in the midst of receiving our shipped wedding gifts (no boxes accepted at the reception, the way to go) and had an empty flat box leaning against the wall, waiting for recycling. He takes out two styrofoam packing pieces. He smashes them together. He then looked up at me and in the most approving tone of voice I have heard from any person to date, said:

“Just what I was looking for.”

Sons. The economy offspring.