I finally let the Little Monster borrow my juggling beanbags (which are ridiculously expensive). But, hey, they are MEANT to be dropped. Repeatedly. How much harm could he do? One bag busted open within half an hour (the Man I Married fixed it with duct tape).
Then, later, the confession. “Momster, the neighbor kids came home, and their friend got car sick and barfed when he got out of the car. I tossed up your beanbag and it landed in the barf.”
In actuality, there were about twenty questions on my part and dozens of half-formed answers on his in order for me to understand the logistics from his rambling pov on how my beanbag landed in someone else’s barf.
I said, “Little Monster, the beanbags are now yours, all yours.”