Babes in Toyland

Christmas has a way of reverberating into the New Year and beyond. Much to my dismay, I will surely be confronting pine needles in the nooks and crannies of my home long after the red, red robin comes bob, bob, bobbing along. Much to my dismay, I will continue to relive the moment during this holiday season when a beloved childhood memory of mine was crushed.

It all began as innocently as childhood itself. George and Claire were ripping the paper off a Christmas gift with great anticipation. My daughter excitedly pulls a box from its wrapping and George says, “Oh, cool! Candy Land!”

I’m flooded -- not with distinct memories, but with the intense but inchoate images and feelings of a young child. I don’t remember the game’s specifics or its characters. I feel happiness about winding along a path of friendly colors through a swirling world of sweet fancy.

I lean in to look at the box with Claire…

Candy Land's gotten a sexy makeover.

I'm flooded again. This time with rage, helplessness and disappointment along with a barrage of thoughts:

“Ah, not my Candy Land! Is nothing sacred? My Candy Land didn't have creepy bimbettes posing around the board! This game’s supposed to be for little kids! Can’t we just wait a few years?... Oh, shit, get over yourself, Rachel. You are such a control freak. You can’t shield Claire from everything in this world. There are so many other things to worry about than the sexualization of a dumb board game. She can still enjoy the game… Maybe, I’m just pissed I can't recreate my own past through my daughter. Or, maybe, I’m becoming one of those ‘things aren’t the way they used to be’ kind of cliches.”

As the wheels in my head spin, Claire and George open the box and look at the pieces. Another newly-opened game sits on the table next to Candy Land. Claire points to Chutes and Ladders, the green and blue board filled with children of diverse racial backgrounds playing actively, absorbed and engaged -- how I would like Claire to imagine herself in her world. She looks at Candyland…

“Mama, Candy Land is for girls and Chutes and Ladders is for boys,” she says.

The screaming in my head comes to a screeching halt. Claire cuts through my bullshit every time. Out of the mouths of babes is how the saying goes.


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Welcome to The Sunday Parenting Party, hosted by Dirt and Boogers, Play Activities, Crayon Freckles, Taming the Goblin, The Golden Gleam, Prickly Mom, and The Tao of Poop. The SPP is place for readers to find ideas on nurturing, educating, and caring for children, as well as honest posts about the stresses of being a parent or caregiver. Links to reviews and giveaways are welcome as long as they are relevant to the topic. All parenting philosophies are welcome with one exception: please do not link to posts promoting physical discipline, as this is something we would feel uncomfortable having on our blogs. (P.S. By linking up you agree that your post and photos are Pinterest, Sulia, G+ and FB friendly. We will be showcasing ideas on The Sunday Parenting Party Pinterest board.)

CHECK OUT THIS WEEK'S FAB FEATURES: 

MY SKEWED VIEW, HE SAID WHAT?

DIRT AND BOOGERS, MY SON SAID HE DOESN'T LOVE ME

 

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Santa Employs Sweatshop Labor

I surveyed the bounty of my daughter’s toys around me, and knew I could come up with a long list of what I would banish from Santa’s List.

There were the fine, easy plastic pieces that had spread out like a diaspora from their homeland toy. There were princesses taunting me with vapid, feckless smiles. I saw lego pieces that look innocent by day, but lie in wait to lodge in the tender part of the unsuspecting arch of the foot in the middle of the night. Then, the musical toys chimed in randomly with their voices of good cheer...oh, and the DVD’s that my daughter pesters me endlessly to watch...the dried-out markers and broken crayons...

The sheer amount of toys made me optimistic that Santa's unlist would be lengthy.

Q is the man for the job!

That’s when I realized that an unlist just wasn’t going to cut it. I needed to consider a complete overhaul of the Santa system. No, I’m not recommending the demise of Christmas altogether. I’m not that Grinch-like. I’m suggesting something more along the lines of Santa hiring Q from 007 to ensure toys self-destruct just around the time that fat baby rings in the New Year.

Hear me out. What’s the fun part of Christmas for the kids anyway? It's the ritual of it all...putting out a plate of cookies and glass of milk, imagining Santa and his team on the roof, waking up with the sun, racing down the stairs and ripping the paper off the presents and opening the boxes for the big reveal!

Let's face it, after that's done, you get a few hours of toy contemplation and the Christmas booty gets relegated to the Land of Forgotten Toys. Or, worse! If Santa's treasures aren’t abandoned altogether, then, parental involvement becomes necessary in the form of a job that offers zero pay, no upward mobility and no benefits: toy management (aka picking toys up off of the floor once an hour every hour).

We all know Santa employs elves at sweatshop wages. Parents, we are being equally exploited here!

So, Santa, either we get a raise for our integral role in the whole merry-making system or hire Q. I know, I know. You’ve been at this a long time. It’s hard to change your ways. But if Jeff Bezos can revolutionize retail, I have all the faith in the world that you can put a finger aside your nose like a cherry and make it happen. Consider me a modern-day Natalie Wood. I believe, Santa, I believe.

If you and Santa need any more convincing of the necessity for dire action in this matter, go check out the unlists of my mom-blog friends. Not only are their arguments sound, but they are funny and smart (just like them). I'm proud that these fearless women are my comrades in the fight against Santa's exploitation...

Jean from Mama Schmama, My Child Models Deserve the Best

Kristi from Finding Ninee, Three Things I Don't Want My Son to Get for Christmas

Katia from I am the Milk, The Gift that JUST. KEEPS. ON. GIVING.

Jen from My Skewed View, Dear Santa, Please Don't

Sarah from Left Brain Buddha, Holy Testosterone, Batman! {Why are Superheroes So ANGRY These Days?}

Stephanie from Mommy is for Real, Thanks for Nothing, "American Girls" - Why I Hate American Girl Dolls 

Sarah from Sadder but Wiser Girl, Flaming Pillows and Other Christmas List No's

Newborn Hoarders

The Demas family did a big move recently, which is why I've been MIA from these parts. Miss me? That's my most pressing question. A close second...

Why do first-time parents amass so much baby stuff? 

Packing for the move brought so many dirty secrets to my attention. I couldn't believe how many bibs, burp clothes and blankets I found crammed into corners of closets.

Stuff we never used!

I could have been flabbergasted by such profligacy. But then I remembered what it was like preparing for the arrival of baby. My husband, George, and I were swimming in uncharted retail waters.

I'm an expert shopper for me. I buy a skirt, I know my size or what will go with it in my closet. That new couch will have to match our Oriental rug and hide black cat hair.

Buying for baby numero uno means no compass or map serves as your guide. 

You walk down the aisles of Babys R Us, pitching items into your cart left and right in a paranoid frenzy, which is driven by the vain hope that you have covered every conceivable contingency, circumstance and emergency imaginable. If you aren’t careful, you get momentum going and end up with a baby food maker by Remco, and 50 pairs of baby socks. You get enticed by the mesmerizing purple color of Ibuprofen in liquid form. You get sidetracked by the cuteness factor, and buy a wool jacket that will fit her in August.

Likewise, rationality goes out the window when you are confronted with baby products that you had existed before, and suddenly seem essential for raising a morally-upstanding child. Nose Frieda, Gripe Water, tiny emory boards, all were like revelations from above. You say to yourself, "How did parents ever live without this stuff?" You even go so far as to feel smug about how much better you have it than your mom, all thanks to man's giant step forward in the baby-paraphernalia department.

no idea

Then, the baby comes, and you realize that the Diaper Genie isn't going to grant your wish for a good night's sleep.

Before the stork delivers...well, it's close to impossible to plan for an unknown entity. I heard the following question from my husband over and over again, “Are we going to need that?” My repeated response was “I don’t know. I’ve never had a baby”.

Many head-scratchers began with the words “how many” or “what size”. How many diapers? How long will she be in newborn clothes? Like the proverbial trying to read the instructions outside of the box you’re in, it’s all a big mystery.

I was a Girl Scout. I like to be prepared. In my mind, that meant buying two of everything. If one is good, two is better. Yes, I knew I was not Noah and The Ark, but I was nine months pregnant. Therefore, I was as big as Noah's Ark, and the hormones pumping through my body did not render me an exemplar of rationality.

A good piece of advice for new parents is to keep receipts. I doubt there is a more prolific return aisle than the one at Babys R Us. If you don’t, you will end up with what George calls “The Land of Forgotten Toys”. He was good about keeping the receipts, but then returning stuff turned into a job.

And one thing a new parent does not need is another job.

We had piles of things that needed to be packed in their boxes, boxes cluttering the hallway, lists made of replacement items. Our house began to manifest qualities of one from the TV show Hoarders, as the result of conversations that started or ended with something like this: "That’s the second swing that’s made her cry."…"Why did we buy so many sheets?"…"Who conned us into thinking we needed a (fill in the blank)?"

I can look back on our retail adventures and smile now. As Claire gets older and we get wiser, we have become much more strategic in our purchases. The basics are checked off our list. I have the next-size clothes folded, ready to roll. They go with the season, thank you very much.

Now that we've unpacked the new house, a sense of order has returned to our lives and household….Well, that's clearly wishful thinking on my part. We now have a toddler with all of the disarray that this recent development implies.

Plus, a new retail situation seems to be unfolding before my eyes: If anyone has advice about what to do with the growing mound of toys that's slowly taking over our living room like an unchecked disease, please feel free to leave a comment below…


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Young Frankenstein

I spend way too much time pondering this toy: 

It’s a bug on human legs, two very long human legs, wearing very long circus pants. 
 

A triangle hole is the void where its private parts should be. A half bug/half man creature that has been castrated by its maker.

It came as part of a musical set. The rest of the instruments are normal enough.

Why does the bug stand out so from the others? Who made it and was his or her inspiration Mary Shelley? 
 

I wonder what it must be like to work for the toy maker. I imagine a place like Willy Wonka. 

Or an office in which 95% of the personnel would fail a drug test (I'm referring to a different kind of "doping"). 

The toy would definitely make more sense to me if I weren't so sober.

 

Smiles, everyone, smiles!

The same woman does all of the voice-overs for every musical toy on planet earth. Her voice is cheery and chipper, and probably of much better quality than the tinny toy speakers make it sound. She sings of incessant happiness and eternal sunshine. If by chance it did rain, I’m sure she’d be happy too – especially when she’s with you. Often times, she’s backed up by steel drums, in Caribbean-style arrangements of popular children’s songs. It’s as if life’s a perpetual vacation. If I weren’t breastfeeding or didn’t find the stridency so weary, I’d have the urge to join in with a margarita or two. Not really the vibe I want for my child. Right now, Claire doesn’t understand the words anyway. When she does, we’ll be sure to counter with Grimms’ Fairy Tales and some Billie Holiday.