The mail at my house is explosive. Six days a week the mail-lady drops a load of correspondence and parcels at the door.  She always refuses to put the mail into the iron mailbox (that I spent weeks selecting), but chooses to drop it at the front door. As is probably the case with you, the brunt of the heap is fuel for post-consumer recycled products, or if you are on the devil’s team, the mound fills a neat little spot in the landfill.

With the recycling bin handy, the catalogs and shiny postcard advertisements go first. Then, whatever Blue Cross Blue Shield sends is tossed -- with a family of six someone is always at the doctor or the hospital, and BCBS feels the need to track all those many visits. A more organized person might file or at least open such correspondence, but with the stack so steep, there is no hope for my reading anything with a plastic window on the envelope. Following medical documents go all the prospectuses sent by some company who apparently holds the key to my far distinct retirement. My mother-in-law insists I should keep all those official documents, but no dice.  Lean, clean and uninformed is the plan in my house. Finally, the packages, which are always books for The Professor are opened. Seriously, he receives (and reads) a book a day. The titles are always riveting like:

• The Liberal Ideal and the Demons of Empire: Theories of Imperialism from Adam Smith to Lenin
• Development and Underdevelopment: the political economy of global economy
• Orientalism, Culture and Imperialism
• An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations
• Theotonio dos Santos, Dependencia económica y cambio revolucionario in América Latina

I don’t ask questions like, “Hey, will you tell me about that book?” I just open the mail.

In midst of a daily mail pile fight, I can tell the war is being won because the stack dwindles and the recycling bin fills. Almost at the end, I tear into a box and find three Webkinz. Dialing The Professor I call to inform him that his package has arrived – how sweet he is to order our children a present, and it's a damn good thing  because it’s our son’s birthday, and there are no gifts. 

“Don’t know whatchaya  talkin’ ‘bout,” the hubby claims. Hmm?

The next day another box of Webkinz arrives. What?  The Professor and I dive into this mystery like two tranquilized tigers.  The spirit of Nancy Drew did not stir us to immediately put the puzzle pieces together.  Finally, The Professor offers that he might have a clue.

“Lately, I’ve received numerous emails stating that my ‘package has shipped’. Wonder if that has something to do with this?” Yeah. It just might be a clue, Sherlock.

Oliver and Hardy finally solve the riddle -- our 7-year old has ordered $700 of Webkinz on the Internet.  The next three days finds the friendly mail-lady filling the front stoop with stacks of boxes. 

A first-grade computer class has taught my daughter how to Google. She loves to Google. One day she Googled snow leopards and for hours repeated random facts about the near extinct animal. The next day she Googled shark attacks. Such fun that I counted my blessings she was busy. For the past 7 years I have restricted my children from touching the computer because I didn’t want to risk my documents. However, four months ago I gave the children my old desktop computer and was pleased that my daughter knew how to use Fact Monster and Fun Brain. When she got into Webkinz World, my naive side said, “What could that hurt?” When she combined Google and Webkinz she hit the motherload -Amazon where my "one-click" settings were memorized.

Return all the Webkinz, you say. The problem is that the Webkinz were not bought from one place or even a store with a name.  There are 31 orders consisting of numerous plushy animals from random individuals across the country. The box might be from Jane Doe, Lansing, MI, and matching Jane’s name to an email address like crittercountry@yahoo.com is proving difficult. To complicate the issue, my son opened one day’s worth of boxes thinking they were his birthday presents. Who knows which Webkinz were in which box.

Suffice it to say, it’s a mess.  Once the total expenditure was calculated The Professor got motivated and matched 25 Webkinz to their sellers. Hopefully, ABCToyTimz will refund our account.  Please don’t mention the cost of return postage. We can’t process that additional deficit at this moment. (Look at the cute retired kangaroo. He was a steal at $24.99.)

Comments

[hokgardner]

Oh my god! That's just unbelievable.

We've had the good fortune of not getting into Webkinz around here. Reading this, I'm especially glad we haven't.

[aunt susan]

This is PRICELESS! Well, I should say, this is EXPENSIVE! What a hoot. That girl!

[Deb (Missives From Suburbia)]

OMG!! I'm dying over here!! How many Webkinz do you have to buy to hit $700 in value? Is that Husky one still available? Because my son loves his, and I fear one of the dogs will destroy it someday and I won't be able to find a replacement.

[Rebecca F]

Please know I mean this in the most friendly, sympathetic way possible....

Bwahahahahahaha!!

*ahem*

Rebecca F.

[all things BD]

Oh, that's just scary. We're attempting to make our first Webkinz purchase, and the girls have been watching what I'm doing on the computer.

That ends now.

[Diosa]

My seven-year-old just started with the webkinz last week. He got two for his birthday. I'm thinking now I'd better check he's not logged into my Amazon account. I don't remember buying anything on his computer, but better safe than sorry.

[Tina]

Oh my!! Maybe you could get a third job;)

[Thuraya]

You could start selling the ones you can't match back to sellers on ebay. make a little of the money back.

[Liz]

Hey, Bitsy! Long time....

I was sitting for a friends children last night and I kid you not it took me 15 minutes to get the guy off the phone who called because 10 year old Maddy had signed up on his site for his company to help her decide what college to go to. I was telling her mother about this later and she then showed me the 100's of dollars worth of Scholastic books that young Maddy had ordered - COD, no less! Your not alone pal

[Karly]

Oh. My. God.