I should have reacted when I heard the first crash from the playroom, it was followed by uproarious laughter from Charlie, then Rachel, so I continued, sipping my coffee and chatting away to my friend in the kitchen, figuring there were apparently no casualties or we’d have been summoned. Liz was in the vicinity too, although also engaged in conversation, on her mobile.
In the back of my mind I could hear the unmistakable sound of toys being tipped out of boxes and lots of giggling but I imagined them to be just playing nicely, even if making a bit of a mess in the process. The phone rang and I was further distracted, giving the terrible twosome even more time to wreck the joint.
When I eventually went in to check on them they had reached the third level of shelves, some 4 feet up, and seemed to be systematically chucking the contents of every puzzle and game piled there onto the floor.
The devastation was catastrophic. Every toy box had been upended, jenga blocks, packs of cards, counters, dice, stickle bricks and lego littered the floor. At least fifteen different puzzles had been mixed up and scattered everywhere, the tops and bottoms of the boxes they came in, separated, crushed, broken and in random parts of the room. Fisher Price toys, Playmobil people and their impossibly tiny accessories were spread far and wide. Carnage. The toddlers were triumphant and unremorseful. |
My kids have too many toys, or maybe just a parent with an inability to cull them. I yearn for the simple life – go and play with a stick in the garden and be content with that.
Patrick is learning about old and new toys in school at the moment, so we sent him in with photos of some, including a couple of my Mum’s partner, Mike’s, impressive collection of classic matchbox vehicles. He has some 150 or so housed in a locked glass display case.
Once, when Ben, aged about 5, was staying with them, Granny found him staring longingly at them all. He told her matter of factly: ‘when Mike’s dead we can break it open and play with all his toys.’
The traditional toys are the best though. My children have all had hours of fun playing with their wooden world train and road track, even now. I remember when Ben was little, him getting really involved in the construction of it all. When he was about three, I called him into breakfast and he called back to me down the hallway, ‘Not now, Mummy, not until you’ve seen my erection’ (He meant his track and bridge.)
Leading on from our old and new toy discussions, the children and I started to talk about changes in TV and computer games. I told them we had a small, black and white television when I was young (I think it came free with our colour TV set from Radio Rentals.)
Emilia said: ‘That’s funny, ours isn’t black and white now, it’s silver.’
As indeed the TV surround is, so strange though, that the idea of the picture not being colour, just didn’t occur to her.
Sometimes I’m not sure why we bother with toys at all, Ben was aged six when he told me ‘All the best things in life involve a screen.’
They were certainly all very fascinated by our neighbour’s iphone. He was showing them how to play games on it and told them, ‘Just scroll down with your finger until it lights up’ to which Emilia responded ‘But your finger doesn’t light up!’
They love technology, and are often better at it than I am. I received a text from a friend the other day saying ‘Lovely pic Jules!, In your ‘thinking pose’ I see! Has a little person commandeered your phone by any chance...? ‘
What picture? What, Where, How? I anxiously check my sent messages and there it is, a horrendous, grumpy picture of me, taken unawares. I look at the recipient...’to many.’ Little bugger!
RACHEL!!!!!!
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