Let There Be Light
We’re about a month and a half past Christmas. That means Abbie has officially had enough time to grow tired of all of her Christmas toys. She still hasn’t done anything with the PopOnz playset we bought for her, even though the box clearly says it’s for ages 18-months and up. She still likes her Fridge Farm, and as much as I hate LeapFrog toys, I have to admit that one was worth the money. She also likes the pirate ship bath toy we gave her, but we heavily ration that one’s appearance to bath time every other night, so it always seems new. She’s thoroughly bored of the rest of her toys, and needs to uncover new forms of entertainment.
Enter light switches. They may be the perfect toddler toy as they combine the clicking of a button, cause and effect lessons as the light goes on and off, and the omnipotent godlike sensation all toddlers enjoy as she casts the rooms into light or shadow depending on her whim.
I noticed that she liked light switches weeks ago while in a hospital waiting room. After being stuck there for several minutes, Abbie was going stir-crazy. These waiting rooms offer precious little for her to play with, the diaper bag contains only toys she’s chewed on a million times before, and a toddler can only eat so many generic Froot Loops. I let her roam the room hoping she’d find something within reach to play with that wasn’t expensive, sharp, or a biohazard. After a few more minutes of wandering and whining, she noticed the light switch. Most light switches are several feet off the ground at arm level where an average adult can easily reach out to flip the switch on to determine what toy he just lodged in his foot while on his way to warm milk for the 3am feeding. These switches were considerably lower, at about waist level, in anticipation of the needs of the wheelchair bound and possibly antsy toddlers. Abbie stretched as high as her tippy-toes would allow, and after much rumbling and reaching, pulled the switch down. Her face lit with joy when she discovered her new power, or at least I imagine it did; we were in a windowless room that was now pitch black. I fumbled my way to where I remembered the switch being, flipped it back on, and watched Abbie take about .81 seconds to flip it back off. We spent the rest of our time alone in the room playing this game.
At home, most of the switches are also too high for her to reach. She needs a large immobile object to climb on in order to reach any of them. Enter the toilet. She’s discovered that after climbing onto the toilet seat and no doubt collecting millions of germs, she can reach the light switch and flick it on and off to her hearts content. Of course we keep the lid closed as a safety measure to keep her from falling in the bowl, but it looks like we just enabled her to injure herself by falling from the seat and onto the tile below, possibly cracking her head open on the porcelain sink on her way down. I try to keep the bathroom door shut to keep her out of there, but the door still winds up being left open an awful lot. I blame bathroom gnomes.
When I hear the familiar click followed by the drag-out fan alternating between on and off, I immediately storm into the bathroom, assuming I don’t have a baby or two in my lap, or sternly scold her for climbing to such perilous heights. I then make her climb down, and find something safe for her to play with, like her Fridge Farm. It still holds a little interest for her.
Enter light switches. They may be the perfect toddler toy as they combine the clicking of a button, cause and effect lessons as the light goes on and off, and the omnipotent godlike sensation all toddlers enjoy as she casts the rooms into light or shadow depending on her whim.
I noticed that she liked light switches weeks ago while in a hospital waiting room. After being stuck there for several minutes, Abbie was going stir-crazy. These waiting rooms offer precious little for her to play with, the diaper bag contains only toys she’s chewed on a million times before, and a toddler can only eat so many generic Froot Loops. I let her roam the room hoping she’d find something within reach to play with that wasn’t expensive, sharp, or a biohazard. After a few more minutes of wandering and whining, she noticed the light switch. Most light switches are several feet off the ground at arm level where an average adult can easily reach out to flip the switch on to determine what toy he just lodged in his foot while on his way to warm milk for the 3am feeding. These switches were considerably lower, at about waist level, in anticipation of the needs of the wheelchair bound and possibly antsy toddlers. Abbie stretched as high as her tippy-toes would allow, and after much rumbling and reaching, pulled the switch down. Her face lit with joy when she discovered her new power, or at least I imagine it did; we were in a windowless room that was now pitch black. I fumbled my way to where I remembered the switch being, flipped it back on, and watched Abbie take about .81 seconds to flip it back off. We spent the rest of our time alone in the room playing this game.
At home, most of the switches are also too high for her to reach. She needs a large immobile object to climb on in order to reach any of them. Enter the toilet. She’s discovered that after climbing onto the toilet seat and no doubt collecting millions of germs, she can reach the light switch and flick it on and off to her hearts content. Of course we keep the lid closed as a safety measure to keep her from falling in the bowl, but it looks like we just enabled her to injure herself by falling from the seat and onto the tile below, possibly cracking her head open on the porcelain sink on her way down. I try to keep the bathroom door shut to keep her out of there, but the door still winds up being left open an awful lot. I blame bathroom gnomes.
When I hear the familiar click followed by the drag-out fan alternating between on and off, I immediately storm into the bathroom, assuming I don’t have a baby or two in my lap, or sternly scold her for climbing to such perilous heights. I then make her climb down, and find something safe for her to play with, like her Fridge Farm. It still holds a little interest for her.
posted by Matt at
10:13 PM
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