Being a Five Year Old

“Play is the highest form of research”

--Albert Einstein

 Now that we have plodded through a couple of phases of COVID re-openings, fifty-seven days of June, and a dozen or so senior parades, and socially distant graduations, it’s a proper summer.  Family corn hole games on the lawn, beach buckets, and BBQs are back again. As the pandemic progresses, every week brings some new item that's in short supply and high demand. Toilet paper, jigsaw puzzles, home gym equipment and so much else. Right now, kiddy pools are sold out almost everywhere. At my house, the TP is all stocked up, puzzles are lined up for the next bunch of rainy days, and I find myself turning to toys. Little kid toys. It’s like I’m five years old again.

Mr. Potato Head, Play-Doh, and Matchbox cars have all made an appearance in the last few weeks. The other night, when two friends came over for some backyard distantly social snacks, we pulled out craft kits and made plastic mermaid sun catchers, with stained glass gel paints.

Perhaps one good thing that could come from this pandemic is the return to the fun parts of our younger years. When my high school senior lost her last season of track, her senior awards night, her prom, and her job, refuge was found in coloring books and board games. Most people I know with Class of 2020 kids have said that watching them lose so many milestones, brought back their own memories of sweating it out on a football field in a polyester cap and gown, staying out until dawn on prom night, and having that last team dinner. I got to experience all of those events, but my daughter didn’t, and that is a real loss. When I graduated, the world was my oyster. I had college to look forward to, new people, travel, and so much more. I was going places. The Class of 2020? Quarantine and Zoom classes. Face masks and empty classrooms. Canceled plans and almost constant worry that their world will never be the same.  Is it any wonder that turning to the playthings of childhood would be a comfort?

Playtime doesn’t keep anyone safe, it usually doesn’t bring in a paycheck, but sometimes you just have to head for the toy box. Think about it. If you’re five years old, and the world isn’t teetering on its axis, one chest x-ray away from a corona-pocalypse, what makes you happy? Toys and food, most likely. Scraped a knee? Have a Freeze Pop. Having a bad day? Go play dollies and racecars. I’m way older than five, and confession time: I built a pug out of Legos this week and spent a few happy hours playing with Silly Sand. Also, they still make Super Elastic Bubble Plastic, in the tubes with the little straws. It still burns your lungs out, and it’s still wicked fun.

When my kids were little, I was the terrible mother that hated crafts. I never wanted to do activities with a whole bunch of little pieces that needed to be assembled. Paper chains, pipe cleaner caterpillars, and paint by number kits were all necessary evils, stashed away for snow days. When there was a five-year-old at my kitchen table, it was about fighting off the spread of glitter glue and crushed Oreos. These days it’s all about fighting off dread, fear, an invisible and insidious virus, a few creditors, and an Internet full of lies, damn lies, and statistics that I should shut off, but never quite manage to do. Maybe there is something to be said for putting away the adult worries, the job hunting, the Netflix binges, and sitting down to play with something.

Then I found it, this week’s little bit of happy fun time. I was in Marshall’s, a place I hadn’t been since February. Finally, I could return the blouse that didn’t go with the jeans that are now a wee bit too tight. On a clearance shelf was a tiny plastic space ship, a small bit of fake grass, and a magnetic cow. When you press on the little alien inside the UFO, the lights blink, the toy whistles, and then you wave it over the cow until the magnet activates and sucks Elsie right up. It even lets out a long “Mooooo” as she is whisked off to outer space. Does it get any better than that? I giggled like, well, a five-year-old with a fresh tube of glitter glue.

I have no answers about COVID-19. I cannot solve the racial issues that are everywhere, and just as illness-inducing as the virus. I can’t holler anymore at the news on TV; I’m going to barf up a vocal cord. What I can do, however, is take the time to pick up a stupid toy now and then and do some serious playing around. It won’t solve any of the big issues, but it will provide a few light moments. We all need more of those. Stay safe and play nice, OK?

The Most Dangerous Toys? Oh Please...

"I've had a lot of worries in my life, most of which never happened."

---Mark Twain

At times, I have been a world-class worrier. My first child wore a life jacket and a bike helmet in the tub. As the years wore on, I eased up. My second only wore the helmet. The third? Neither, but the baby monitor wasn't turned off in her room until she was ten years old. Thankfully, over the years, I've been able to calm down about the minor issues and just focus on what matters most. It's a good thing because looking back, worrying about tubby time seems simple compared to some of what keeps me up at night now.

Recently the list of the ten most dangerous toys came out. I appreciate that there are organizations that check on safety and toys because the laws about the manufacturing and sale of them are not that specific and the list always seems to bring up something no one thought of before. Knowledge is power, right? No, not always. Sometimes knowledge is what's causing that rising panic when you start losing it because the toy your kid wants---more than anything in the world---made the top ten.

This year's list is much like those in the past. It talks about toys with toxic materials, small pieces, dangerous malfunctions and all that. The problem is, some of the items on the list, while not harmless, seem to be there for no real reason. One of them is the Wonder Woman Battle-Action Sword. It's on the list as one of the "worst" toys, and let's face it that's a big deal. It's a short list; it's like being a National Merit Finalist for a trip to the Island of Misfit T

oys. The problem with this toy? It could cause a "blunt force injury." Well…yes, but couldn't almost any toy do that? I bashed my brother over the head with my Patty Playful doll, and he needed two stitches. It would be one thing if they had a problem with the Lasso of Truth being a choking hazard, or Wonder Woman's invisible plane being recalled for not meeting emissions standards, but come on.

Another toy to look out for the is the Spiderman drone. The propeller blades go wicked fast and if a kid touches them, it could cause an injury. Isn't that true of every drone ever made? How come Spiderman is singled out?  First Wonder Woman, and now the webbed wonder? Doesn't this sort of sound like a conspiracy against Super Heroes? Watch out Batman; they'll be coming for the utility belt any day now.

It's become ridiculous. The holidays are stressful enough; now there's a naughty list of toys too? Whoever makes up the list must think parents are stupid and will just hand a kid a toy and never bother to read the directions or watch the children play. It's like the whole "You'll shoot your eye out!" frenzy in the movie "A Christmas Story."  The Red Ryder, carbine action, two-hundred shot range model air rifle wasn't on any list, but everyone still worried about it. Everyone except Ralphie's dad, who got it for him. Did Ralphie shoot his eye out? No, it never happened, he broke his glasses, that's all.

 This movie is a favorite of mine because it's not really about the Red Ryder BB gun, or the Bumpus hounds or the "major award" leg lamp. It's about what we remember most. We are entering the season of "lists" from who is naughty or nice, to the Black Friday specials, the holiday card addresses, and the invites to the New Year's party. Some of my most cherished memories of this time were never on any list. There was the Christmas my doll carriage fell apart and to make me feel better my father pretended to write to the factory elves about quality control, after spending two hours getting it put back together. Then the year George was nine days old, and there were still gifts to wrap for his older brother at 5 o'clock Christmas morning after a sleepless eve of screaming and diaper changes. These all could have been disasters, but that's not how they are remembered.

Enough of lists that are just more worries to add to the ones we already have. Most of them won't ever happen, Mark Twain was right; so much of what we worry about never comes to pass. Make new lists, without chores or "action items." Mine will read something like, "Call Lisa J. for coffee" or "Go to lunch with Miss June" and "Play cards with Auntie Anita." The rest of it can just wait. After Christmas, maybe I can pick up that Wonder Woman sword on clearance.