If your kids are anything like mine, they have an obscene amount of stuffed animals and while I can’t prove it, I’m almost positive that they multiply just like real rabbits because the pile never stops growing.
When I was in middle school, I should have failed Home Economics. I burned my banana bread in cooking class, and the blouse for my final sewing project might have fit had my head been the same size as my arms. But woodshop–now that, I aced. And Aunt Ginny loved her new birdhouse.
Battery: It’s one of the first words kids learn, right after "NO!" and "MINE!" and "GIMME!" If a toy moves or makes noise or has any potential for fun whatsoever, then certainly it requires batteries. Or does it?
One of the downsides of our charming New York apartment – our toys outnumber our square footage. I fear any holiday gift for the kiddo bigger than a breadbox is going to have trouble finding a permanent home here–except for maybe a breadbox itself. Then at least we could store other toys in it.
I know my daughter would love a dollhouse, however, I just can’t give in to buying a huge pink plastic house with frilly shutters and a white picket fence. Just thinking about it gives me a weird sugar high. Plus, I’d love my next child (perhaps a son?) to be able to enjoy playing with a cool house without having to endure all the oozing girliness.
Wouldn’t you love this to be the year that you actually get your shopping done before the night before Christmas or Hannukah? 5 PM? As the shopkeepers are pushing you out the door and telling you, "come earlier next year?"
The Christmas of my childhood generally consisted of a full stocking and one big gift, which we certainly preferred to the alternative of fourteen crappy plastic toys and a few itchy grandma sweaters. It was way cooler to get something like a ballet barre, a rocking horse, or a teepee.
There’s nothing like anticipating that glorious, uninterrupted, naptime shower only to have to spend an extra ten minutes emptying out all the darn bath toys that are scattered around the bottom of the tub. And the net thing? Please. That holds one rubber duck and my scrub brush, if that.
Considering my daughter can spend upwards of two straight peaceful hours a day drawing and coloring, it would be great if I could find something to help us take her artwork on the go. Oh how much I would pay for a quiet restaurant meal!
One of my favorite pastimes as a child was building mini kingdoms with my brothers’ wooden blocks. There was something entirely gratifying about building big towers and castles – and then knocking them all down with one fell swoop.
I’m not the most experienced parent in the world, but from what I understand, I have only a few months left until my daughter asks that inevitable question: Can I get a pet? Knowing her, it won’t be any old pet; it will be a turtle or a snake or, help me, a rat.
Oh, the ant. The sweet, sweet ant. Yes, I love the little guys and in fact one of my fondest childhood memories includes my trusty ant farm. The memory could only be made fonder had the ant farm been instead the super-looking Antquarium.
Ever since I got wind of the whole latex balloons are the devil stuff, I’ve been distraught. While I would hate for my daughter’s birthday celebrations to be entirely balloon free, I also don’t need to decorate the place with a bunch of colorful choking hazards.
When I was young, I had a beautiful wooden music box that featured a dancer pirouetting on a mirror inside. It was regaled to a high shelf in my bedroom except for the few times a year when my mom reluctantly pulled it down for me. I’m still bitter whenever I hear "The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy."
As the old ad used to say, I love sweets but they don’t love me. And then I discovered the carbs that love you back: The absolutely 100% calorie-free goodness of Heidi Kenney’s felt creations at My Paper Crane Shop.
Choosing gifts for boys can be a bit tricky. Okay, it’s pure hell. While boys like what boys like, that doesn’t mean you have to settle for a fleet of miniature metal cars that only end up under the sofa.
We come across quite a few personalized products at CMP. Apparently if you put someone’s kid’s name on something no matter how useless or inane (monogrammed bottle sterilizer, anyone?) it’s a surefire hit.
Plastic, plastic everywhere. Argh, I’m going out of my head with all the neon plastic around our house! Er, what I mean is…anything for the kid.