Pieces of Tape

Pieces of Tape Things break. And if you’re two and a half, you’re likely the one who breaks them. Then, of course, your entire world falls apart until they are fixed and no one, I mean no one is allowed to do anything but focus on the fixing. At least that’s what happens around here. Luckily, Ironman can fix anything, partially because he’s a man (I can find just about anything that’s lost, it’s a weird genetic trade off) and partially because as a child, he broke stuff too. He broke things on purpose. And by broke, I mean he disassembled things. His mother labeled him mischievous, but in his words, he was merely flexing his curiosity muscles. When he examined things, he thought “I wonder how this works?” Cut to the scene where mom enters to find bike parts littering her kitchen floor – new bike parts to a bike she just bought him. Ironman is still this way as my floors frequently look eerily similar. Little J follows lovingly in his dad’s mischievous inquisitive footsteps. Rarely, all toys are fully intact and in perfect working order. I’m lying. This has never happened. Once the item is purchased, it immediately downgrades to gently used, much like Carmax inventory.
I am constantly amazed at Ironman’s ingenuity. He’s fixed everything Little J has brought him, from car wheels to popped-off motorcycle handlebars. But the other day, Little J brought him an empty acorn shell and said “Fix.” I was wondering how this was going to turn out. Inside I feared that his superhero status, Repairman, was about to crumble. Without a thought (and with a Copperfield-esque slight of hand) Ironman revealed a fully intact acorn. Genius. I would never have thought of that. But then again, fixing is not my superpower. And apparently, my assumption that breaking just runs in Ironman’s gene pool, was a minor inaccuracy. Exhibit A. I sport quite pricey rimless glasses held together by a dot of super glue (this dot has been replaced multiple times). And the other day my phone committed cellular suicide when it leapt from my hands (it’s true, don’t judge) and dove to the floor. When I picked it up, its fragile face was unrecognizable. I shattered it so badly I swear you could feel tiny shards of Internet. Ironman had just bought it for me, so I knew the punishment must fit the crime. Apple didn’t have any appointments available to replace said fractured screen for two days. TWO DAYS. I was lost. How would I function without my handheld world? I was slowly descending into a pit of 4G despair. When all of the sudden, I heard the unmistakable sound of…packing tape? A few moments later, someone handed me a perfect mate for my super glue glasses. A smooth-screened phone cuddled into my hand as a smile slowly formed on my face. Who was that masked man? I didn’t catch his name, but if you see him or the “I” on his cape, please thank him for me.

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