For kids, cardboard boxes are filled with possibilities

I was babysitting on Saturday, so stopped on the way for provisions.

At U-Haul Storage of Tempe Town Lake.

When my son Sawyer was growing up, his toys could pretty much play without him.

His trucks ran on remote control. His stuffed animals growled and barked. He

Ididn’t even make his own sound effects — — as he flew a TIE fighter around the backyard. It worked as long as the batteries held out.

So I dragged home cardboard boxes and Sawyer and I turned them into castles, airplanes and monster trucks. When Sawyer was 10, we turned a wardrobe box into a TARDIS (Doctor Who’s time-travel vehicle) over spring break.

We learned a box could transform into just about anything.

At the U-Haul, I didn’t have to explain to Jeri Eddy, the assistant manager, what I was doing. People buy boxes to make robots and coffins at Halloween and to jump out of at parties.

I got one large box ($1.99 each) for each of the three kids and arrived at my babysitting gig like a DIY Mary Poppins.

Four-year-old Pete wanted a rocket ship. “Iris Airlines,” I wrote in marker on one wing of 2-year-old Iris' airplane. Audie, who’s 4, wanted a car with a unicorn drawn on the roof.

It kept everyone busy until bedtime. I read until the girls fell asleep and then Pete and I tip-toed into the kitchen for peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches. He said he was hungry, but I suspect he missed his mom.

Pete pulled his rocket close to his chair. It hadn't come with instructions — or batteries. With boxes, the possibilities are endless.

I suggested adding flames to the bottom of his rocket like at blast off. Pete liked the idea.

“Where do you think it will take you?” I asked. “To the moon?”

“To Pete said.