We have enough toys to amuse untold villages of bored children. You know how it happens: you buy some, the kids want some, some are rewards, some just appear in amazon boxes because your husband thought they were cool, some come from friends/relatives/acquaintances, some are revenge (the plastic beepy ones), some fulfill your childhood wishes (exhibit A: stuffed sloth), some were actually your toys in the Long Long Ago.
And some toys were just your stuff until your kids stole them.
My kids have a laundry list of stuff we’re never getting back ever. We should never buy actual toys.
A partial list of things my kids have pilfered:
* Bear’s favorite camera tripod, which they use to “take pictures” and bludgeon each other
* Bear’s super-nice Christmas binoculars, gifted by my mother
* A dog-chewed backscratcher, often brandished as a weapon.
* My ancient swim googles
* Kitchen tongs of various shapes, sizes, and purposes; used for actually tonging things, including and especially those annoying plastic ball-pit balls that multiply like sex-crazed rabbits
* At least three flashlights: two wind-up self-powered dingys from Ikea, one massive burglar-killer high-powered box-thing, and another cheapy on-and-off . That makes four. I really need to take one of those back in case we actually, like, lose power. They turn off the lights and throw flashlight raves, then shine them in their own faces, then eventually progress to blinding each other and the dogs.
* Industrial protection material, including gloves and facemasks
* Two or three hose covers/ power-cord sheaths/tubing thingies they make into marble races and breathing apparatuses
* Bear’s awesomely soft and warm and expensive possum-fur hat, a Viking helmet previously utilized in drunken Halloween costumes, several lengths of shiny fabric, and a Batman fetish mask. I’m not saying who owned it. I’m not saying where that person bought it. But it somehow managed to find a second life as Manic Pixie Boy’s superhero costume. I live in desperate hope no one recognizes it in public.
* Rock Band-brand drumsticks, used alternately for drumming and light saber battle
* Various medicine bottles covered in duct tape to prevent parental heart attacks when Manic Pixie Toddler wanders through the house clutching a pill bottle and moaning, “More? More?”
* A sock monkey named Norman
* Vintage buttons probably worth way too much money to contemplate on eBay, generally serving as stand-ins for pirate treasure
* Old wooden spools
* The handle of my auxiliary fridge, now a plastic weapon storage caddy
* Baby monitors repurposed as cell phones or moon phones or probably just flipped on and off randomly, allowing the neighbors to possibly overhear way too much about my personal life
* old sets of keys leftover from college and grad school, when I always somehow managed to forget to turn in any and all state-issued keys. These could possibly enable one to enter at least three campus buildings, several offices, and multiple dorm rooms, because the university is too cheap to change locks ever
* golf tees
* watering cans
* at least two Neti pots, one of which lives in the bathtub, and the other of which is disturbingly MIA
* the boppy, which is now a cat bed (we don’t have cats)
* the hose, no longer used for keeping plants alive or washing cars, but instead to put out fires (blessedly imaginary), pour water, soak children who aren’t wielding it, terrify the dogs, soak parents, occasionally drown any tomato plants that have survived drought and children and the Boxer, soak party guests, make mud, soak innoncent bystanders
* several shovels, rakes, and hand trowels
* the Boxer
* any and all dryer balls not jealously hoarded like Smaug’s jewels in The Hobbit. Last time I checked, they were dragon eggs or something.
* the lingerie wash bag, which Manic Pixie Boy uses as a fireman facemask
And I’m sure I’ll end this post and think of about thirty more.
What have your kids stolen lately?