Before I became a mother, I remember visiting the homes of friends who had children.
Their homes were always filled with toys littered throughout the living room and bedrooms. Even the
bathroom had an Elmo shower curtain and towels, with bath toys scattered in the tub. In these pre-child days, I
silently told myself that my house would never become a small scale Babies ‘R’ Us. Oh, how naïve I was.
We have toys everywhere. Retrieving the necessary materials to make cereal in the morning requires a tremendous amount of physical skill because our kitchen is an obstacle course of baby saucers and walkers and other large, plastic objects.
And each of these toys make music! Endless music! Colin likes to wander around and activate every musical toy so that several renditions of “Mary had a Little Lamb” and “Pop! Goes the Weasel” are playing simultaneously. Several of the toys have made up songs, and my husband and I know the words to all of these by heart. Some of these songs are performed by people with musical ability, but a couple of them are just awful. It’s as if the maker of the toys said, “Hey, Uncle Frank, do you want to sing a song on this toy? Everyone else in the family already sang one.” Uncle Frank declines, saying he’s tone deaf, but his nephew doesn’t believe him and pushes him to do it. So Uncle Frank does it. But the thing is that Uncle Frank really is tone deaf. Really. I don’t mean to be judgmental. I’m a terrible singer. But I didn’t record my voice on a child’s toy to torment generations of
parents with my bad singing.
Once all of the toys are on, Colin begins his dance party—but he doesn’t like to dance alone. He looks at me imploringly until I am dancing with him to “Row, Row, Row your Boat” (not an easy song to dance to) and pretending that this mess of wrong notes is good lyrics. I worry about what this is doing to Colin’s musical sensibilities.
After Colin has made his morning rounds and turned on every toy in the house, including a couple of Uncle Franks, he loses interest and wanders to our recycling bin to find a new toy. There are hundreds of dollars’ worth of toys in the house, and he’s a little dumpster diving baby. Apparently household recyclables are far more fun than any of these expensive toys. From the bin he lovingly selects a toy—perhaps an empty salad dressing bottle—and the two play together for hours. Colin brings the salad dressing bottle everywhere with him for the day, smiling at it, laughing with it, and treating it as his lovey. They enter a world I cannot enter, with Colin lovingly exchanging knowing looks with Salad Dressing Bottle, leaving me feeling a little left out and jealous.
Meanwhile, even though no one has pressed any buttons for ten or fifteen minutes, the musical toys continue without any apparent need for encouragement. They keep calling out to Colin, trying to break his love affair with Salad Dressing Bottle and lure him back, and they are persistent little toys. Uncle Frank is singing relentless off key renditions of “Three Blind Mice,” another one is counting to ten in Spanish, and still another one is babbling something in French. I don’t even understand what some of his toys are saying.
It is a happy moment when the toys all sadly say,“Good-bye,” “Adios,” and “Au Revoir,” having accepted that no one is pressing any buttons. This is generally timed perfectly, however, for when Colin is ready to take his relationship with Salad Dressing Bottle to the next level and introduce her to his friends. Soon Uncle Frank’s melodies fill the house again, and Colin and Salad Dressing Bottle start to boogie.
Their homes were always filled with toys littered throughout the living room and bedrooms. Even the
bathroom had an Elmo shower curtain and towels, with bath toys scattered in the tub. In these pre-child days, I
silently told myself that my house would never become a small scale Babies ‘R’ Us. Oh, how naïve I was.
We have toys everywhere. Retrieving the necessary materials to make cereal in the morning requires a tremendous amount of physical skill because our kitchen is an obstacle course of baby saucers and walkers and other large, plastic objects.
And each of these toys make music! Endless music! Colin likes to wander around and activate every musical toy so that several renditions of “Mary had a Little Lamb” and “Pop! Goes the Weasel” are playing simultaneously. Several of the toys have made up songs, and my husband and I know the words to all of these by heart. Some of these songs are performed by people with musical ability, but a couple of them are just awful. It’s as if the maker of the toys said, “Hey, Uncle Frank, do you want to sing a song on this toy? Everyone else in the family already sang one.” Uncle Frank declines, saying he’s tone deaf, but his nephew doesn’t believe him and pushes him to do it. So Uncle Frank does it. But the thing is that Uncle Frank really is tone deaf. Really. I don’t mean to be judgmental. I’m a terrible singer. But I didn’t record my voice on a child’s toy to torment generations of
parents with my bad singing.
Once all of the toys are on, Colin begins his dance party—but he doesn’t like to dance alone. He looks at me imploringly until I am dancing with him to “Row, Row, Row your Boat” (not an easy song to dance to) and pretending that this mess of wrong notes is good lyrics. I worry about what this is doing to Colin’s musical sensibilities.
After Colin has made his morning rounds and turned on every toy in the house, including a couple of Uncle Franks, he loses interest and wanders to our recycling bin to find a new toy. There are hundreds of dollars’ worth of toys in the house, and he’s a little dumpster diving baby. Apparently household recyclables are far more fun than any of these expensive toys. From the bin he lovingly selects a toy—perhaps an empty salad dressing bottle—and the two play together for hours. Colin brings the salad dressing bottle everywhere with him for the day, smiling at it, laughing with it, and treating it as his lovey. They enter a world I cannot enter, with Colin lovingly exchanging knowing looks with Salad Dressing Bottle, leaving me feeling a little left out and jealous.
Meanwhile, even though no one has pressed any buttons for ten or fifteen minutes, the musical toys continue without any apparent need for encouragement. They keep calling out to Colin, trying to break his love affair with Salad Dressing Bottle and lure him back, and they are persistent little toys. Uncle Frank is singing relentless off key renditions of “Three Blind Mice,” another one is counting to ten in Spanish, and still another one is babbling something in French. I don’t even understand what some of his toys are saying.
It is a happy moment when the toys all sadly say,“Good-bye,” “Adios,” and “Au Revoir,” having accepted that no one is pressing any buttons. This is generally timed perfectly, however, for when Colin is ready to take his relationship with Salad Dressing Bottle to the next level and introduce her to his friends. Soon Uncle Frank’s melodies fill the house again, and Colin and Salad Dressing Bottle start to boogie.
