Toy Rant

Several times a month (week?) Scott will step on something small and brightly coloured and most notably, Not Away, and say "That's it! We have too much shit in here! We're getting rid of it! Now!" Of course, you'll remember that I love conflict, so you might expect that I would jump in with a clear and coherent defense of said object, pointing out that it is, in fact, the only reason to hope our children might read/play an instrument/cure cancer (we only acquire educational toys, it goes without saying).

But no. Every time I just drop my head and sigh. Yep. I hate 'em too.

Other friends with children seem to embrace to the Toy.  They have several, many even. They seem to enjoy the acquisition, the variety, the abundance.  God love 'em, some of them actually seem to enjoy playing with them. Together. With their children. I was at a toy party last week and could only bring myself to purchase a book because the catalogue seemed to be just a collection of small pieces to lose and make me angry. Sure, they were going to teach my children to count, match, see patterns and choose sexual partners wisely (at the right time, of course), but good gravy, do they have to be so... many-pieced? Ugly? I get cranky just thinking about it.

We've started talking about Christmas presents.  Well, I have.  And in the spirit of full disclosure, I should probably confess two things before going any further.  One, I am cheap and hate spending all that money at once not because anything is needed, but just because The World says If You Love Them, You Will Show It With Your Purchases On This One Day Of The Year. While You Celebrate God With Us. And two, as perhaps hinted at in number one, I have some theological issues about Big New Amazing! gifts being exchanged as a way to celebrate Christmas.  But those are posts for another day.

Given the disclosure above, you are right if you assumed that Christmas present discussions are a bit fraught. Not with conflict (surprise!) but with a shared un-enthusiasm, for Scott also dislikes the gift orgy, although for different reasons.  We don't actually exchange gifts with each other, just stockings of underwear and soap and a few miscellaneous treats. We've often considered the year's holiday to a hot, sunny spot our gift to each other.  But of course, kids complicate things and so last year there was the tree-aplenty to greet us Christmas morning with Toys! and Fun! and Wow! for everyone.  When we talked about it last night, I realized that probably our first attempts were where I want us to get back to as a family: seeing the gift we give at Christmas as an opportunity to revel in God With Us, which is so deeply experienced in our togetherness and therefore choosing to give ourselves time together, however that works out.

And so maybe this is my first moment of parenting against the stream of our culture.  I feel the push-back when I see the flyers for toy stores and know that the children my children spend time with have homes filled with plastic (and non-toxic, wooden) diversions that they love and my children are going to have new underwear, a new book and maybe a new activity-creator (think tennis racquet, bike, ice skates, life jackets and crayons) but not so much on the trains and trucks and collectable doll front.  Just because I hate them.  The toys, not the kids. To be clear.

I love our play kitchen that Grandpa made for Auntie Barb back in 1960-something.  I love the dog that walks that Uncle Bri made and the big huge elephant from Uncle Andy.  The dress-up clothes that Auntie Anna got at Value Village rock. But the rest? I could throw the rest away and never miss them. And I suspect the kids would not miss them either.

I worry though. I worry that I'll be depriving them of the opportunity to find out they're science-lovers or artists or truck drivers because they didn't get to explore their own selves through play, which is, of course, their job.

And to be clear, this is not about being Anti-Consuming or Pro-Something Impressive. It's about being cheap and annoyed by things that I don't enjoy myself.  I've got 60ish sleeps to get it worked out and decide what part of my own toy-hating I'll be imposing on my small people.

Anyone see it more clearly than I do?