A Losing Battle

I love my kids, but man, oh man, do I loathe the toys that come with them.

Back in the spring, I pinned a “Bored Jar” on Pinterest. Taking a Ball jar and filling it with tongue depressors with activities listed on them, I figured it would come in handy while I would be on maternity leave. I marked the sticks with many different activities, including chores that I think Averey can handle at age six. So today, Averey asked to pick a popsicle stick. I could hear her and Kelsey going through them (while the idea is to do the first one you pick, Averey reads through them all until one piques her interest), and finally they chose the golden one: “Go through old toys and books. Decide which ones you’d like to donate and bag them up.” Averey had great enthusiasm for the project, and so I felt it would go really well as I nursed Jacey.

When the task was complete and Averey came to me with four grocery bags full of stuff, I was hopeful that all the little toys that annoy me would be gone. I asked her to show me what was in the bags. A coloring book… already colored in. Used lip gloss. Random markers and crayons. Itty-bitty stamps, probably near dry. Three Sandra Boynton books that are oh-so-adorable (which Averey blamed on Kelsey and immediately removed them). A couple McDonald’s toys (just one of the many reasons I despise dining at McD’s). Some puzzles. Learning cards with a ripped box. Every single pair of sunglasses they own. I tried not to show my annoyance, as it was my fault for not laying down guidelines on what should or should not be donated. I explained to Averey and Kelsey (who really wasn’t listening anyway) that they can’t donate things like used lip gloss and coloring books, incomplete puzzles, stuff with ripped packages, or items that they actually use, like sunglasses. The sorting of junk ended up on the floor, and in the end, four bags turned into one. An item Averey chose to donate was a cute Melissa & Doug dress-up bear set with laces to attach different outfits to it. It was something that “Santa” brought her for Christmas a couple years ago. And so I mentally swore that we are never buying toys AGAIN. And Averey made it known that she never wanted to choose that stick AGAIN.

Here’s the thing: I love my parents and my in-laws. I totally appreciate that they are very involved in our girls’ lives and help us out tremendously. Most of my friends’ families live out of town, out of state, halfway across the country. I know of some people whose parents don’t enjoy their grandchildren and would perhaps only see them once a year, or whose parents are elderly and can’t keep up with their grandchildren. The fact that Jake’s parents live 10 minutes away and my parents live less than 80 miles away is a huge blessing, and they’ve come to the rescue on more than one occasion. I understand they want to spoil their grandchildren and have the means to do it. But OH. MY. GOSH. Most of these toys do not come from us. I do not enjoy the toys, especially in our size house. While we have several rooms to host a basket or two of toys, not to mention the finished basement, but their bedroom is not big by today’s standards. Averey’s American Girl doll, the horse, clothes, bed and wheelchair are crammed in a corner by the closet. On more than one occasion I haven’t been able to open their closet because of the stuff on either side. And their closet is rapidly running out of space for their clothes and shoes, let alone toys and boxes for school and other assorted memoirs. I’ve explained this to my mother on several occasions, and I know she understands. I’m not sure my mother-in-law completely gets it. Nothing personal, of course. Like I said, I do love my in-laws too. But it doesn’t help that she grew up in this same house with two siblings, so she seems to think we should have plenty of room. However, I’m certain that in the 1950s and ‘60s that they did not own even one-fourth of the toys and clothes that the girls have today. Both mothers remind us that we have the basement. But now the basement is so cluttered with toys and doesn’t help the cause one little bit.

Did I mention that I hate toys?

When we’re invited to fellow kid birthday parties, I refuse to ever buy anyone toys. (Just as I will never buy anyone blankets for a baby shower. I can’t even begin to count how many baby blankets we have!) I would much prefer to give clothes or money, or a gift I wouldn’t mind being in my house. Not as exciting to the kid, of course, but I believe in practicality, especially since I am a parent. I will welcome books (both coloring and reading), clothes (even though I am guilty for buying them probably more than they need), puzzles and “quiet” activity goodies in our house until I’m blue in the face. But bring in toys that (a)make noise, (b)have more than two pieces and (c)have anything to do with Barbies or American Girl dolls, and I think I might lose my mind. While I recite, “please clean up” like I’m a broken record, a Barbie shoe or magnet or some miniscule piece of who knows what and where it belongs will inevitably end up in the garbage if I see fit. It may be a small victory, but I will continually lose the war against these playthings.

We sometimes get frustrated with the size of our house and small closets and cluttered basement (not quite as extreme as an episode of “Hoarders”, but sometimes it feels that way). We’re not sure what we’ll do with the extra space if we ever move into a bigger house. We hope it will happen sooner rather than later, but at the end of the day, we are thankful to have this roof over our heads. But I highly doubt a bigger roof will constitute a greater tolerance for toys.