First World Toddler Problems or The Worst Toy Ever Invented

A long time ago, James was given some Adobe swag at work. This swag was not your typical mug or pen. It came in the form of a flying monkey. You know, the kind that is basically a giant rubber band covered in a monkey suit that you can fling across the room and when it makes contact with something, it wails a loud monkey noise. Oh, and it wears a red Adobe cape. That's important, I'm sure. And in case that isn't enough office space fun, the hands of the monkey are covered in velcro so you can hang it from things I guess.

Well, James brought home two. And originally we kept them and I used them for seminary games because at six in the morning, a flying, wailing monkey is fairly abrupt and entertaining.

I'm not sure why we still have them.

But, the other day Abi found one sitting with my other stuffed animals on my bookshelf. And she had to have it which was fine with me. I actually thought she'd love that it makes noise. It didn't occur to me that it makes a wailing, sad noise suspiciously similar to a cry a baby makes.

James and I spent about five minutes introducing her to the make-contact-hear-noise concept by dropping the monkey to the ground in front of her. She looked at it, then at us, then at it. She did drop it once or maybe twice, but she didn't seem to enjoy it so we stopped, figuring that maybe she just wasn't old enough and in a couple of weeks she'd find it hilarious.

Not.

Actually, it turns out, she thinks this monkey is real. (Why our extensive Toy Story research did not register at that moment, I don't know.)

So yesterday, the day after her introduction to this cute monkey, Abi was carrying the monkey around talking and squeaking to it. She sat beside me and began to play with my phone when she suddenly dropped the phone which fell onto the monkey in her lap. The monkey began wailing and Abi's eyes went wide, her whole upper body began shaking as she stared at the sad little creature. Then, she looked up at me with the biggest crocodile tears and cried that cry that you know demands comfort.

Sorrow

I held her and showed her the monkey's face, "He's still smiling, see? He's happy!" Emotional training is now in the daily schedule. Obviously, this little girl feels this monkey's emotions very acutely. We spent about ten minutes giving that monkey lots of kisses and hugs.

Monkey kisses

So, later that evening, I was cooking, Abi was still carrying the monkey around. She sat on the kitchen rug next to my feet to squeak to her monkey. James was cooking with me and we were having a nice chat when Abi started making the sounds of frustration with a problem that has surpassed her ability to solve.

We looked down to see that the velcro on the monkey's hands were stuck to the kitchen rug and he wouldn't let go when she wanted to walk away with him. It was a tug-of-war between the rug and Abi and the monkey was in the middle. Abi was losing. Poor thing!

Who makes toys like this?

Even though I love this amazing child especially for her compassion and emotional empathy, I couldn't help but giggle at her plight. That's when I looked at James and said, "First world toddler problems, right there." Your toy (one of the many) has too many technologically advanced parts for your emotional state.

Well, this morning, I gave her both Adobe monkeys, one of which is broken and no longer wails, and she had another frustrating moment when their hands got stuck together and she did not want them touching each other.

Why are you touching?

I wanted to try to get it on video just in case you think I'm kidding or exaggerating, so I stuck the monkeys' hands together again trying to stage another legit first world toddler issue, grabbed the camera and waited for her to notice.

She didn't notice. Instead, this is what happened...