Just pull the trigger

My son's backpack is falling apart. It had great reviews and I thought because it was made of canvas, there would be less chance of it coming apart at the seams. The bag itself is still intact. It is the connection to the straps that has come undone. Of course, the problem is that the purchase was for my son. He is the single most destructive force in the universe. He doesn't mean to be. He's a fiddler. Not the musical instrument type fiddler but a never-have-idle-hands type of fiddler.

I've seen him mindlessly destroy money, tickets, toys, or random things just laying in his path. It's like he enjoys the feel of something coming apart. He once destroyed a chamois that I use to wipe down the shower in my bathroom. He only showered in there once. When I came to my shower later, it was a little pile of sad chamois fragments. He didn't even remember that he had done it!

I can't fault him too much about it because I used to be just that kind of kid. Well, maybe not to that extreme. Once my brother Norman had mixed up our lunch tickets. Older kids got larger portions of food than the 2nd graders, which I was, so theirs cost a little more. He realized his mistake and by first recess came to my classroom to trade tickets. By that point (really, no more than 2 hours) I had reduced his lunch ticket into pulp. And I couldn't help it! I remember having the conflicting emotions of knowing that my brother would be furious with me if I messed up his ticket, but also being afraid that I'd lose the ticket, so I checked it multiple times to make sure I knew where it was. I also remember the amazement I had when I realized how damaged it had gotten. Like it happened all on its own. I wasn't aware that I was messing that ticket up with my frequent checking on it. The mere fact that I had it in my possession meant that it was going to be destroyed.

My boy is incredibly hard on stuff -- like the world is just not big enough for him. This is a kid that managed to break a hole in the bottom of a plastic milk jug, not notice, and proceed to put the milk jug back in the fridge. Picture that mess for a second. You try living with that.

So back to the backpack.

I decided to get him a new one. Found one on Amazon.com that had over 350 reviews and was ranked at 4.75 stars or so. Pretty great. But there were about 20 colors to choose from and nothing is worse than having your mom pick colors for you. How are you supposed to express your individuality but still allow yourself to blend in with the crowd if your mom picks your gear? So I foolishly waited for him to come home to pick the color of the backpack.

He is a worse shopper than me.

First, he dismissed my choice in back pack immediately. Said that it was ugly no matter the color. Then he went on to search for the best rated back packs out there. He managed to get his choice narrowed down to 2 different ones. Then he had to read reviews and watch the videos describing the two finalists.

o. m. f. g.

A good hour later, this was our conversation

Me: Just buy one already!

Him: No, I don't want to regret my choice. I'm just checking more reviews.

Me:  Just make a decision and suck on the teat of regret like all the rest of us do.

How many times did your mother counsel you to suck on the teat of regret? I'm guessing not a lot. But that was exasperation talking. Especially when he found out that his number one pick was out of stock so he went with number two anyway.

We'll see how long this one lasts.