"We Don't Let Dorothy Crack The Eggs Anymore" Chapt. 24, "Toys"


Gloom settles darkly over the giant toy room we call home that the batteries on mechanical gimcracks have powered out.

The toy destroyers have struck again.
On the 12th day of Christmas, you're lucky if the packing boxes are still intact. (We have a clubhouse in the backyard erected from said boxes by our boy which makes "Tobacco Road" look like paradise. The Urban Renewal people have been giving us long looks...)
Okay, so the cotton candy machine and Mr. Ideal and the fire engine motors and stopped whirring long enough to allow every day (not post-holiday) aspirin swallowing to return. And there lies the rub. Or there rubs the lie. Both fit.
It's the whole idea of new toys that causes our teeth to grind. Every one's an imitator. Copy Mommy. Copy Daddy. Copy Boy! (Not NOW-- where were you when I NEEDED you?) As I was preaching...
The kids are copycats.
Learning grownup ways via junior make-believe kits is okay, but once they've gotten the knack, these kidlets figure it gives them license to copy the parents real stuff.
Give Junior a toy Brownie and the next thing you know he's put the blitz on your 35 mm.
You know those toy phones teach tots how to dial? Fie on them! (I couldn't even touch the phone till I was 16. What do you mean they weren't invented by then?)Now that the imps have master Southern Bell's ring-a-ding, they call everyone they know. And some they don't. The last angry man, however, used an unfortunate choice of words difficult to erase from their bear trap minds.
How cute it was when the six-year old learning how to open Coke bottles all by himself mastered the problem.We didn't think he was so all-fired expert the ayem we found him and his sisters practically schwacked from downing a beer he'd opened.
Give him a tool kit -- it's a fool kit -- and expect him to build something useful? It's another destroyer-toy. An instrument of destruction rather than con.
Makeup kits and bitty beauty kits are your lasses' joy but it only whets their appetites for Mommy's creams, face and hair repair items.You know those lipsticks they advertise that don't come off on him?That don't come off the wall, that's all.
Ours have been big in the doctor and nurse kit department. Every "ow" requires a pill or stethoscope reading. They take the Hippocratic oath every night before bedtime.The other eve I asked, "Would you like some orange juice?" The four kids chorused, "No thank you, we're operating in the morning."
I didn't believe them until I woke up the next day. And found them trying to sew my hand to my thigh.