Culling them with kindness
TRAUMA OF THE TOY BOX CLEAN-OUT
WINTER has come to the toys in our house. It is time for a cull.
In possibly the final indignity for our overlooked playthings, we’ll be forensically sorting through the fun stuff and weeding out the out-offavour and the forgotten.
There are three young kids in this joint so there’s a lot of junk to get through. We have to be brutal - think Toy Story meets Hunger Games.
Now, whacking toys is an emotionally fraught business and - as is customary with parenting - tactics are crucial.
Do you do it with the children present, and witness scenes of such heart-rending tragedy as to make Bambi look like a birthday party?
Or do you wait until the kids are out of the house and then spirit away targeted items, only to be eyed with suspicion when they notice the missing and won’t believe you were burgled by crooks with a taste for Dora making it an adorable little emotional ball and chain. There’s eight years’ worth of memories and thus it’s impossible to simply off the lot into a miniskip.
The extent of my little problem became obvious when one of the kids developed a dust mite allergy and we were told to exterminate the bugs from the soft toys by boiling or freezing them.
A rational person might designate which toy received which treatment according to fabric type, colourfastness and so on. But when I found myself sorting them by habitat - the polar bears and penguins got sent to the freezer, the rest to the washing machine - I realised it was time for intervention.
It’ll be tricky and there will be tears - probably mine. But I’ll tell the kids those that don’t make the cut are off to live on a lovely farm.
It’s the only way to get this pink fluffy monkey off my back.