Toys R Un-necessary

Earlier this fall, I had an epiphany.

It was one that came on slowly - different layers of it revealed over several months of watching the boys play in their playroom ... or just outside of it, as the case may be. 

I'm not sure how it all got started, but at some point, the boys started throwing toys over the baby gates and into either the kitchen or the office. It'd happen both when they were pitching a fit or when they wanted my attention, but either way, it made me CUH-RAZY. 

Jones responded to discipline and quit with rare setbacks. Freddie, on the other hand, was COMPLETELY unfazed by whatever I tried to make him stop. Finally, I decided I'd just make a rule that whatever he threw became mine. I imagined it'd be a huge deterrent. I'd keep things until I decided it was time to give them back, and he'd walk by the box swelling with his playthings and be overcome with grief for the actions that caused their separation. 

Um. Yeah.

That's not exactly what happened. 

Turns out, I have now collected all but about three toys from the playroom, and not only did the boys not shed a single tear when I took them (over the course of several weeks), but they haven't asked for ONE.SINGLE.ONE of them. 

NOT ONE.

And it's not like they haven't seen them. 

There are multiple boxes and piles of them in the garage. We walk by them every single day. There's another stash in the sun room. We walk by them a couple of times a week, and nothing. Not even a wistful, "There's the 'heldicopper' Mayme gave me for my birthday. Can I please play with it?" 

NOTHING. 

I began to realize that their toys don't mean diddly squat to them. This revelation was ultimately driven home by the first time that I put them in the playroom when there was not much more than a slide, a rocking horse, and a basketball goal in there. I'd expected they'd be bored to tears. I had no idea what they'd do to occupy themselves and told them as much as I put them in there to play, my voice all full of "If only you'd listened to Mama" disdain.

Moments later, I heard them laughing and singing songs from "Mickey Mouse Clubhouse" as they danced around the wide, newly-open space. And then I called my mother and reminded her to PLEASE not overbuy for the boys this Christmas. 

Another layer of the epiphany dropped like so many autumn leaves when we were at Lake Junaluska last week. We'd gone to have a picnic and try out their new park space. But after we ate, we couldn't figure out how to get into the park area. I thought the boys would be sad; I braced for fits and tears but was VERY proud when none came. 

When we walked through a wide open field to get back to the car, I said to the boys, "Y'all want to play in the field?" Of course, they did! And then they went and chased the ducks around the lake, and when we left, Jones said, "Dat was FU-UN!"

Getting back in the car, I thought to myself, "Not only do kids not care about toys. They also don't care about play equipment."

Apparently, when it comes to playtime, all kids care about are wide-open spaces where they can laugh and sing and ... in the case of Jones and Freddie Pressley ... throw leaves in the wind. 

Lesson learned.