That’s MY Toy!

I have a favorite toy of N’s. I know that it’s my favorite because I spent a little time everyday trying to interest N in its exciting ways.  I build it up.  She looks at me patiently, knocks it down and moves on.  I set it up AGAIN.  She ignores me.  I take the individual pieces and SHAKE them.  She holds out her hand with a FINE and gnaws on the piece for a bit.  She tosses it over her shoulder and crawls away with finality.

I’m not even sure why I love the toy so much. Did I want it when I was an infant but my parent’s wouldn’t buy it for me?  (The HORROR!)  On a side note, my mom did buy my son the red car with the yellow top that I coveted as a child but my parents were unable to afford. I haven’t been caught cruising down our street in it (YET), but I do shine it up from time-to-time.  The car is celebrating it’s 30th anniversary by adding eyes.  We are almost the same age, but I haven’t added anything except gray hairs and a tire around my waist.

Do I just like that the toy fits together so nicely but each individual piece has excitement of its own?  I do have a thing with waste.  I hate wasting food or paper towels or water.  (With that as a list, you might think that I am a wonderful chef, living in a very clean home, with two very clean children.  Perhaps, we are a smelly family living in a dirty house who orders out a lot PRECISELY BECAUSE I just don’t want to waste anything.  Don’t mess with my logic.  I took a class on it in college.)

N’s favorite toy? Besides whatever E has, our cats, and me, she makes a beeline for the play kitchen. In my feminist defense, the kitchen was originally bought for E before N even existed.  I am keenly aware that I am raising a husband and possible father.  Cooking is essential.

I’d like to think that N makes a mess of the kitchen everyday because she plans to be rich enough to have someone cook and clean for her.  Or smart enough to marry someone like her brother or father who, at the very least, will cook and clean WITH her.


Photo credits (in order of appearance): Alex Iwashyna,, Alex Iwashyna

Alex Iwashyna

Alex Iwashyna went from a B.A. in philosophy to an M.D. to a SAHM, poet and writer by 30. She spends most of her writing time on, a humor blog (except when it's serious) about her husband fighting zombies, awkward attempts at friendship, and dancing like everyone is watching. She also has a soft spot for culture, politics, and rude Southern people who offend her Yankee sensibilities. She parents 2 elementary-aged children, 1 foster baby, 3 cats, and 1 puppy, who are all Southern but not rude. Yet.

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