Yesterday morning, I showed that one of our Wiltshire StaySharp kitchen knives had been damaged by its sheath. About a half centimeter near the tip had been bent 90 degrees to the side, and when I tried to use it, it made a huge raggedy mess of everything.

I asked him if he thought the knife could be repaired, or if I should just throw it away.

Then Captain Jelly Belly burst into tears. We already knew that he had a problem with throwing things out, based on his past teary-eyed request to retrieve his car package from the Garbage Store. But seriously, a knife? That he isn’t allowed to touch or use or even look at?

Maybe he was just upset that he wouldn’t get to use the knife someday. I know I often had fantasies as a kid of the wonderful day when I’d be allowed — oh the joy! — to prepare dinner. Baby, I’m living that dream.

He would not calm down about the knife, so Sir Monkeypants had to go immediately down to the basement and straighten it out using a hammer and pliers (and did a good job, too). The knife went back in the drawer and the Captain went to school happy.

Then this morning, he was playing with a balloon that had been kicking around here for a week and was already half-deflated, when it accidentally popped. So I asked him to go put the rubber leftovers in the garbage, and know what? He totally cried.

I told him it was not safe to play with a chunk of floppy orange rubber, although I do see his point, the entertainment value there is endless. He asked if he could just keep the deflated balloon somewhere, just to look at. So I fought hard not to roll my eyes and instead went and got a clear plastic Tupperware container, and put the balloon inside like a little coffin. Then we had a little graveside ceremony and the Captain took his Tupperware upstairs to put in a safe place, presumably to be treasured forever, or until we get a new balloon, whatever comes first.

While the Captain headed upstairs, turned to me and said, “Oh my god, I think he has hoarding.”