I once heard a relative announce, in a shrill voice, that his wife was to buy NO MORE STUFFED ANIMALS for their children. I thought he was being unduly harsh.
Yesterday, as I sorted through the mountain of stuffed animals that has taken over roughly half the floor of my grandson's room, I saw the wisdom in my relative's outburst. It isn't so much that we've bought our grandson lots of stuffed animals, it's that we -- correction, I -- kept too many of the critters our own kids collected so we'd have them to share with our future grandchildren.
My grandson has no fewer than four Winnie the Poohs (or would the plural be Winnies the Pooh?), including an all-white collector's edition purchased by a well-meaning family member. His stuffed rabbit collection threatens to edge out his one and only stuffed whale, stuffed caterpillar and stuffed armadillo (yes, they really do make stuffed armadillos).
The solution might seem simple: Give away (or toss) a bunch of these adorable bits of fabric and fluff. Uh-huh. Ever tried pitching a Pooh bear? Or flinging one of those floppy-eared bunnies your babies took to bed with them every night into the "giveaway" bag? It takes the kind of detachment I clearly lack.
Maybe we could rent a storage area ...
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We have stuffed bears, fish, lizards, squirrels, dogs, 30+ stuffed birds and a giant stuffed Sponge Bob. My wife still sleeps with a stuffed moose and I don't mean me. It is utterly amazing how we collect so much stuff.
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