E.T. phone home

I don't buy Eliana a whole lot. Clothes and toys come our way. It's our lucky karma to live a block from the elementary school that we both teach at. We're closer than the Goodwill. And people like us and want to send their generosity in our direction. Bags of clothes with the tags still on, beautiful dolls, board books. It comes our way.

So I can't really excuse buying much for my kiddo.

Until I'm driving down the road in P-Town and a hipster dude is walking across the street holding the hand of a giant E.T. doll and I find myself rolling my window down and saying, "Sweet E.T.!" and then he says, "It's five bucks!" and I sorta laugh and park the car.

But then, five minutes later I'm in some funked out consignment store and there's the dude again, waiting in line to sell E.T. to the hipper dude behind the counter. And I catch him first.

Five dollars later, E.T. is mine.

And he still (like decades after he was born) says all sorts of stuff and lights up (both heart and finger) and is almost as big as Eliana and is freakin' awesome.

It doesn't hurt that I absolutely adored E.T. and was of perfect age to appreciate the brilliance of the flick, going to see it four times in the movie theatre.

Eliana and E.T. are now a total tag team.

"E.T. eat basil? E.T. hungry."
"E.T. up stairs?"
"E.T. hold you?"
"E.T. go night night? E.T. read Moon?"

So we do. And I've never felt so stoked about purchasing something unnecessary and fun for my child. God knows what sort of weird story E.T. has lived for the past couple of decades, but he's ours now, strapped into the seat belt right next to his BFF.