Yeah, those. I love them. My kids hate them.
They're beautiful wooden, brightly painted, simple, battery-free, old-fashioned toys. I want them all. I want to spend excessive amounts of money on them.
Every time I see them on sale I snatch them up. I bring home puzzles, stacking games, and blocks from garage sales and thrift stores - feeling so proud of myself. So delighted. And so, so sure that my kids will love these new toys.
Guess what. They never do. Ever. Nor do they love and cherish the many books that I buy and read to them. Or the cardigans and collared shirts that I want them to wear. (Although they are thankfully really into their hightops.)
The toys that my kids want to play with? The iPad. The iPhone. Tigger that's dressed as a devil and plays music while squirming. That creepy dog that sings "Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes" and occasionally yells out, "Hug Me!" "I love you!" and "I SEE YOU."
NOOOOO! Demon Dog! I hate you!
Until this week, the boys didn't know how to open the bottom of those toys and turn them on. Now they do. So that's fun.
They know how to unlock the iPad and iPhone, open up their own games and tv shows and play them. They know how to put in a DVD, turn on the tv, and press play when it gets to the menu screen. They require absolutely zero help.
When I put stuffed animals, baby dolls, or anything besides their pillow, blanket, and a book or two into their beds, they get mad. They throw it all out and yell at me.
Unless we're counting devil-Tigger or demon-Dog. They do want to sleep with those.
The toys that we actually play with at our house?
The shape sorter. Their trucks. The basketball hoop. Their Legos. Sometimes their trains. Their bikes.
The problem with these toys is that they all apparently require my constant attention.
I need to twist the shape sorter and help them find the star (Or as the boys say, "Sta-RAWR!")
I need to watch them play with their trucks and let them drive them on my body.
I need to chase the ball for them and cheer myself hoarse every time they make a basket.
I need to help build things, and protect the boys towers from each other.
I need to constantly rebuild the train tracks, since they kneel on them every few seconds and break them up.
And I need to push them on their balance bikes, because their toes don't quite touch the ground.
Sometimes I think to myself, "I'll let you entertain yourselves for 15 minutes, you don't need my constant attention."
At which point, eggs get smashed on the floor, pajamas get pooped in, walls get colored on with Sharpies, flour gets sprinkled across the floor, cookies are reached and devoured despite their height and hiding places, books are ripped to shreds, brothers are covered in lotion, milk is poured on the floor (they know how to get the milk out and they think they know how to pour), and in general - my house and my children are
Winter is kicking my butt. I need to get these boys to a park so we can drain some of their excessive energy. We've gone to a few indoor playgrounds, in malls and things. Guess what my kids don't love?
Guess what they do love? Running through stores and pulling things off of shelves and hangers, throwing tantrums in the Baby Gap, assaulting strangers, and weaving in and out of people whilst going opposite directions. Oh, and refusing -at all costs- to be put in a stroller or cart at any time.
This post is off topic. I was mostly going to post pictures of my kids playing with their trains, but obviously I had a rant just begging to get out.
Oh, here's something else.
I've decided that the boys are too old for bottles. They're almost two, after all.