A Toy Story

Toys have been taking over my house for eight years, and I have been powerless to stop it. From the moment my children were born, they have received countless books, stuffed animals, games, and every type of character molded into some (likely unsafe) plastic shape imaginable.

I always said I would never be one of those moms who gives her kids too many things. But as I look around our house, I am forced to admit defeat. The toys outnumber us humans by epic proportions.

Ironically, I am an avid purger. My neat-freak personality loves to bag up items that still have life in them and pass them on to someone who can use them. I love to organize, reorganize, and make little labels for cubbies and plastic bins. And yet, I cannot control these toys.

They seem to be multiplying at night while we sleep; it’s as if those Pokemon and Bakugan figures somehow mate to create too many Squinkies. There are plastic pieces everywhere. I’m sure that if I charged the stuffed animals rent, I would easily cover my mortgage each month.

Yes, I’ve set up clean-up and give-away days where my kids are fairly cooperative about donating gently used toys and books. I happily – giddily! – throw away broken plastic pieces of some toys that are beyond recognition. And the kids’ rooms and their play area look great until that next kiddie or school party where other moms torture me by generously distributing goody bags filled with more plastic stuff. I’m not being ungrateful here, but seriously, how many little plastic bubble containers, skeleton erasers, and plastic kazoos does one family need?

Before I know it, the toy bins and baskets are filled again with mismatched sets of princesses and Beywheelz, where Superman is unhappily riding a My Little Pony. I can feel the walls of our house closing in on me as I look around and see dozens of pieces of toys spilling out of their assigned cubbies. And so the clean-up/reorganization/giveaway cycle begins again.

It is clear that my kids have too much stuff. I am partly – but not wholly – to blame. The kids’ grandparents, extended family, friends, teachers, dentists, other moms, all give some sort of tchotchke for every event or accomplishment. Each day, my four year old is toting around some new, useless object that has suddenly become her most prized possession, leaving the other, forlorn plastic pieces in a dejected pile somewhere. And I want to scream: I want my house back!

And then, in a moment of pure mommy love, I look around at the organized chaos, the Legos on the floor, the stuffed animals hanging from the headboards, and the puzzle pieces longing for their mates, and I realize how short-lived this mess will be.

This mess of toys and trinkets is a moment in time that I suspect I will long for in the not-so-distant future. I sit quietly and remember the high chair, the bouncy seat, and the swing, all taking up so much space, that now hold someone else’s babies. It makes me pine for those bulky baby items . . . and more so for the precious time in my life they represent.

That baby gear is long gone now, and even though it was in some ways more functional than the plastic pieces currently littering my life, all of these objects have together worked to create a sort of blueprint of my children’s development and happiness.

So, for just a little while, I will be content to load the tiniest toy pet shop supplies imaginable into a labeled basket, because before long, I will be battling bigger demons, like cell phones and iPads. Before long, I will be waxing nostalgic about tea parties and superhero battles.

So maybe the purging can wait just one more day.

* This article originally appeared on The Mommy Vortex.