Saturday, April 19, 2014


My kid. He has a lot of toys.  I mean a lot.  Singing toys, dancing toys, reading toys, and teaching toys. He’s got toys that whistle and toys that roll.  He's got toys that serve no purpose other than to start singing in the middle of the night and creep me out.

And every toy uses a different size battery.

Bert and Ernie
And 99% of these toys have been given us. I say us because old Bert & Ernie there are mine. That's right, mine. They sit on my dresser because they mean nothing to my kid. One day, sure, after he's put in his due and watched a few hour of Sesame Street, then he'll earn old B and E, but now? No way, they'd be chew toys in seconds.
But back to this toy windfall, Simon's older cousin has been the source of most of the hand me downs, but between friends and family and even neighbors, his collection is growing daily.  And it's not just toys, even our swing set is second hand.
Look, I'm not complaining, quite the opposite really. I’m thankful for each and every one of them. Each new toy sings a new tune and that is a much welcomed change in my household. I understand that my kid can't appreciate the Beastie Boys just yet, but there are only so many versions of Wheels On the Bus that can be stomached before I get blurred vision and dizziness.
But alas, the other day our neighbors crossed the street armed with tubs of toys as they marched towards our house. And once again, I’m not complaining.  I peeked from the blinds as they advanced over our lawn and then I looked around and wondered where all this stuff was going.  It’s taken over the living room, and his bedroom is overflowing with enough Chinese plastic to choke a landfill.  Lucky for me, my niece just had a kid, and man, do I have some stuff for him.
Because it seems that the imports are coming faster than the exports. We have a singing turtle, a singing dog, a singing dinosaur, and a singing star. I even had to tell the neighbors that we already had the barn and racetrack they were bringing over.
I felt like the bouncer at a nightclub.
Yeah, we got that, got this, and we’re all set on chickens riding a tractor. We are accepting guitar-playing Alligators and hula hooping dragons.  Okay, thanks for coming…bye.
So I usually end up accept whatever comes our way. And the world seems determined  to spoil my kid (or give him an acute case of ADHD), all I can do is open my arms and accept the windfall.  And buy some more batteries....


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