Mine
Our toys come from many different sources. We have toys that we spent way too much money to buy new. We have toys that a grandparent spent way too much money to buy as a gift. We have toys that came with our meal at the local clown-based restaurant.
Then we have toys that came from a garage sale. These are usually cheap things, well worn, a little dirty, and maybe even a little pestilent. Sometimes these become the kids’ favorite toys; I know they at least liked them enough to play with them at the garage sale. Other times whatever novelty they had at the sale wears off by the time we return home with bags of clothes, and the toy winds up forgotten in the bottom of the toy box with the rest of the toys someone spent too much money to buy.
We have a play phone that falls more into the latter category. Abbie enjoyed it to a degree once, but it’s spent most of the past year in the bottom of the toy box with several other toys that someone bought for much more than $.50. It’s a large plastic phone about the size and shape of a cordless phone circa 1990, or slightly smaller than the cordless phone in our bedroom. It’s mostly red and complimented by splotches of retina-scarring combinations of other primary and secondary colors. It has a dial that clicks, a button that squeaks, a slider that clicks, a multi-hued cylinder that spins, and an antenna that clicks in a completely different way than the dial and slider.
Those options entertained Abbie for a while, but once she discovered the joys of playing with and eventually destroying a real phone, she rarely went back to the toy version. Such a toy could encourage imagination and verbiage, but she’d have to have an imagination and verbiage to take advantage of its potential. The boys never thought much of it, and it became another thing for Abbie to have to dig through to find the thing she really wants.
Until last night. For some reason the toy phone was on the floor, possibly because it was blocking a buried Weeble. The boys, perhaps remembering that babies are supposed to be attracted to the color red, crawled over to it and started playing with it. One would chew on the antenna while the other turned the dial. Then both decided they needed a better playing angle and tugged on the toy to free it from whatever was holding it in place. Eventually one would win, sending the loser into a horrible, phone-deprived fit.*
The screaming caught Abbie’s attention. She quickly realized that something worth crying over was bound to be good, and that she’s still big enough to commandeer anything she wants from them. She walked over and started grabbing at the phone while the losing boy regained his composure and fighting ability.
The kids spent the next few minutes fighting over this toy that had been ignored for most of its life in our home. One child would grab it, click something a couple times, and another child would grab it. This pattern repeated several times, punctuated by crying as the toy disappeared from a child’s grasp forever, followed by silence except for the clicking as soon as the child discovered the phone was only inches away and well within grabbing distance.
The phone has been on the floor ever since that night, ignored by all. Whatever novelty it held, it’s gone now. I wonder which toy they’ll decide to fight over next. I hope it’s that Little People set at the bottom of the toy box that we bought for Abbie’s last birthday for about $20.
* Sorry about the vagaries with the names. I’m sure the boys traded roles a few times, with both acting as the victor and the crier on multiple occasions.
Then we have toys that came from a garage sale. These are usually cheap things, well worn, a little dirty, and maybe even a little pestilent. Sometimes these become the kids’ favorite toys; I know they at least liked them enough to play with them at the garage sale. Other times whatever novelty they had at the sale wears off by the time we return home with bags of clothes, and the toy winds up forgotten in the bottom of the toy box with the rest of the toys someone spent too much money to buy.
We have a play phone that falls more into the latter category. Abbie enjoyed it to a degree once, but it’s spent most of the past year in the bottom of the toy box with several other toys that someone bought for much more than $.50. It’s a large plastic phone about the size and shape of a cordless phone circa 1990, or slightly smaller than the cordless phone in our bedroom. It’s mostly red and complimented by splotches of retina-scarring combinations of other primary and secondary colors. It has a dial that clicks, a button that squeaks, a slider that clicks, a multi-hued cylinder that spins, and an antenna that clicks in a completely different way than the dial and slider.
Those options entertained Abbie for a while, but once she discovered the joys of playing with and eventually destroying a real phone, she rarely went back to the toy version. Such a toy could encourage imagination and verbiage, but she’d have to have an imagination and verbiage to take advantage of its potential. The boys never thought much of it, and it became another thing for Abbie to have to dig through to find the thing she really wants.
Until last night. For some reason the toy phone was on the floor, possibly because it was blocking a buried Weeble. The boys, perhaps remembering that babies are supposed to be attracted to the color red, crawled over to it and started playing with it. One would chew on the antenna while the other turned the dial. Then both decided they needed a better playing angle and tugged on the toy to free it from whatever was holding it in place. Eventually one would win, sending the loser into a horrible, phone-deprived fit.*
The screaming caught Abbie’s attention. She quickly realized that something worth crying over was bound to be good, and that she’s still big enough to commandeer anything she wants from them. She walked over and started grabbing at the phone while the losing boy regained his composure and fighting ability.
The kids spent the next few minutes fighting over this toy that had been ignored for most of its life in our home. One child would grab it, click something a couple times, and another child would grab it. This pattern repeated several times, punctuated by crying as the toy disappeared from a child’s grasp forever, followed by silence except for the clicking as soon as the child discovered the phone was only inches away and well within grabbing distance.
The phone has been on the floor ever since that night, ignored by all. Whatever novelty it held, it’s gone now. I wonder which toy they’ll decide to fight over next. I hope it’s that Little People set at the bottom of the toy box that we bought for Abbie’s last birthday for about $20.
* Sorry about the vagaries with the names. I’m sure the boys traded roles a few times, with both acting as the victor and the crier on multiple occasions.
posted by Matt at
11:10 PM
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