One day after school, my 4yo saw an empty box I hadn’t broken down yet, and asked to play with it.
I handed it over, and went back to
checking Facebook cleaning the house.
Minutes later, I was introduced to her New Best Friend.
Holy Chicklets on a stick, does this thing give me the Heebie Jeebies.
She carries Boxy around the house so Boxy can watch her cook in her play kitchen, witness the joy of Squinkies in her dollhouse, keep her company on the couch during Megamind.
She crawls inside of Boxy, closes the flaps, then bursts out, re-enacting a dramatic birth scene creepier than anything her Satanic Twin Porcelain dolls (that I exorcised from our home earlier this year) could ever dream up during their Reign of Terror.
This is the toy equivalent to the velvet Jesus painting: No one knows quite what to say about it, and It’s Always Watching You.
I tried to distract Miss A with other, less nightmare-inducing toys.
I ended up carrying Boxy upstairs so they can read to Miss A’s dolls in bed together.
I tried to move Boxy closer to the Recycling Bin in a subliminal-message-type manner.
I ended up sitting at the kitchen table having a tea party with Boxy hogging the raspberry danish.
The fact of the matter is: Boxy always prevails.
How do I – a perfectly capable 35yo woman – feel about losing this battle of wits to a cardboard box?
Because this creepy seductive-eyed box makes my little girl Furiously Happy.
It’s not about me.
It’s about her.
She felt a Toy Void and, instead of begging for a trip to Target and some new plastic piece of crap I’ll eventually step on with bare feet at night, she filled the void herself.
I don’t want to give my kids everything they’ve ever wanted.
I want to give them what they need.
(Plus a little more, of course)
I also want to leave a little space for them to fill their own needs when they can. Figure things out on their own.
Which is exactly what my 4yo daughter did on a day when she wished she had a playdate after school.
She made a friend and fell in love with
So me and Boxy?