Walk, Don't Run

Abbie handed me a toy car this afternoon. This toy car is one of the many toys we’ve hidden in the house still in its original packaging. When we find toys on clearance at a store, we stock up on good deals. Sometimes we give these stocked toys as presents. Sometimes we give these toys to our kids as a reward for being good. Sometimes we give these toys to charity after they stayed on a forgotten shelf and our kids outgrow them.

This toy car is a small Dora Christmas-themed car. We had intended to use it as a stocking stuffer for next year, but like most of our Christmas paraphernalia, we hadn’t put it away for the season yet. Abbie picked it off the shelf where we’d lazily “hidden” it, and gave it to me.

“I want to open it,” she said.

“I can’t open it,” I told her. I still wanted to save it for next year and didn’t want to open it. It was encased in plastic, so I couldn’t have opened it with my bare hands anyway.

“I need scissors,” Abbie said.

“Yes, I’d need scissors to open it,” I replied. The scissors were in the opposite end of the house, and as long as she understood that I couldn’t open the package without scissors, that should provide a handy excuse for why I couldn’t open it for her right now.

Abbie disappeared without protest, and I returned to my chores. A minute later, Abbie reappeared with scissors in hand. She had climbed onto the countertop where we “hide” the scissors in a location that theoretically outside the kids’ reach.

I thanked her for her diligence, and quickly returned the scissors to their “hiding” spot. I then distracted Abbie with another toy while I hid the toy car. This time I took the effort to put it in the storeroom where Abbie hasn’t found any hidden toys. Yet.