Toy Story

I can't count how much money we've spent at Toy's R Us, Legoland, Target and Amazon in the past six years. Let's just say we could have fed, housed and put a small country through the Ivy Leagues for the same amount.

We are happy to do it. The way our boys' faces light up when they open up a gift they have been "wanting for years and years and years" (despite the fact they are only six and four-and-a-half) makes it worth it.

Or it did until last week.

This summer, like last, we are spending four weeks at my mom's house in central Illinois so the kids can go to the same swim camp that I went to at their age. It's small town living and a nice, necessary, break from the city. The boys absolutely love it. Nothing is far here and we get around much "quicklier" than we do in the city. They can run around in a backyard for eight hours straight (in tennis shoes, not sandals because they are city kids and they don't like the feel of grass on their skin.) Spend lazy afternoons hunting and analyzing all kinds of bugs we just don't have in the city (thank god!) And ultimately make me realize that my husband and I, and all our relations, may have wasted a small fortune on toys for them.

The other day when they came home from camp they walked in the front door of the house, straight through the house and right back outside the back door. They spent the next hour punishing each other with Super Soaker Water Guns. I mentally patted myself on the back for thinking of this gift and actually remembering to tell my husband before he went toy shopping last week. (It was a birthday week, we don't have weekly toy-shopping trips.) However, the smugness was fleeting.

Soaking wet and tired of pulling the trigger, my oldest (now six) tossed the gun aside and pulled out the garden hose and a small plastic bucket that looked like it had been made at the turn of the century – and not this most recent century. He filled the bucket with water and a little dirt and then "sat" down next to it in that crouched squat that only very young kids and hard-core Yogis can do for extended periods of time. He stared into the murky waters, one arm protectively curled around the edge of the bucket, the other gripping a bug-catcher we picked up from Walgreens last summer.

I didn't pay much attention to what he was doing....for the first 15 minutes, that is. But after 45 minutes, when he was still squatting and staring into the bucket I became curious and asked what he was up to. He was too absorbed with whatever was happening inside that bucket to answer and waved me away. He didn't even look up.

Another 30 minutes passed. He barely moved a muscle. He got up once to check out an ant his brother was inspecting and then he went right back to squat central. Another hour passed.

Any and all attempts I made to ask what he was doing were waved away. I took some pictures, which annoyed him, but didn't distract him enough to move. He spent the rest of the afternoon squatting down in front of that old bucket filled with muddy, grassy water. Just staring into its depths and occasionally poking at it with his bug catcher.

I looked from him into my mom's living room, where it looked like Toys' R Us had projectile vomited all over the floor. It was littered with Legos, Matchbox cars, 1,000 Kapla Blocks (I had my mom get as a 6th birthday present), tiny plastic animals, crayons and coloring pads. Hundreds of dollars of entertainment. And my son was spending hours squatting over an old bucket filled with water.

I took another picture of him and sent it to my husband letting him know that we were no longer going to buy more toys. All we needed was a hose, bucket and some dirt.

The next day was a repeat. Toys were glanced at but largely ignored en route from the front door to the back door which my oldest son slammed open and shut before refilling another bucket with some mud and water. He added a few ants, grabbed his bug catcher and crouched down again to sit and watch. This time his little brother joined in the fun, making "Icky Chocolate Poop Soup" with basically the same ingredients: an old bucket, water, dirt, grass and bugs. Sand shovels were used as whisks as my little prep cook stirred and stared. Another afternoon passed.

I cleaned up the toys inside, taking apart the elaborate block structure I had been told to leave alone five days earlier. But I was tired of stepping over it. Half-finished Legos were set aside. Cars extracted from under the couch. I expected full blown rage over the dismantled block structure. I shouldn't have worried. They didn't notice.

I'll admit that at first I was a little annoyed that they weren't playing with all the toys I had brought down for them.  I had driven myself somewhat crazy trying to make sure that I had filled my car with anything and everything they might want to do while we were downstate.

Turns out it wasn't necessary. The only thing I really needed to do was call my mom and make sure there was no drought prohibiting people from turning on the water.

Seeing my boys so mesmerized with something so simple actually made me happy. It took me back to my own childhood. Not that I was content with just a stick and a ball, please I'm not that old. We had toys and dolls and Star Wars action figures and Legos and, well, you name it, we had it. We just didn't have as much stuff as my boys have today.

But the thing is, I don't really remember the toys. Aside from the stuff my mom kept and pulls out for my own boys today, I just don't remember playing with toys that much, although I know I did. What I remember is the time I spent outside at home and at my own grandpa's house in Alabama. Kicking open huge ant houses and watching the millions of little critters scurry around dizzingly trying to regroup. Discovering the bunny rabbits who had babies by the garden. Watching the fish swim in their pond. Worms covering the sidewalks after it rained. The simple things. That is what left an indelible mark on my memory. It has nothing to do with toys or stuff.

Don't get me wrong. I'm thrilled that my husband and I can give our kids so much. But the reality is that none of it really matters. None of these things will be what they carry with them in their minds when they grow up. It's the memories they make with the odd shovel and pail of water that really count. And money can't buy that.

We live in the city and so I sometimes worry that my boys won't have the chance to make those same memories. Sure, we are surrounded by parks and playgrounds and big grassy areas for our boys to run and play in. But they all require an "Outing." Bags are packed up, water bottles are filled and nerves are tested being out of bathroom range. Being able to spend hours squatting over a muddy bucket just doesn't happen at home because Mommy has to get home to make dinner.

And so it's rare that the boys can experience the simple pleasure of just running around in a backyard, chasing "flierflies"until they can't even see each other anymore through the dark. And so down here, this summer, their joy is evident. And contagious.

I realize that by bringing my boys down to a small town for the summer I'm actually able to give them the biggest gifts of all. Nature. Freedom. And space.

And, of course, bugs.

So perhaps for the next three months our investment in all the toys we've bought will not payoff.  But I don't care. Come January we will see huge returns as temperatures once again plunge into the "Wait, Why Don't We Live in Southern California?" zone.

Until then, it's a loss I'm happy to take.

It's a Life Sentence on Facebook.

Doggone it.

You know you are the only female in the house when everyone – except you – leaves the dinner table in the middle of eating to go see "a poop that's shaped like a hot dog."

It's a Life Sentence on Facebook.

Say Cheese

After eating about a dozen mini soy corn dogs and a bowl of peas and corn (to ease my guilt about the corn dogs), my boys announced that they were starving and wanted to know what they could have for a snack.

I asked what they wanted.

It was unanimous. Cheese.

So I pulled out a wedge of cheese I had just bought from Trader Joe's. Spanish Manchego.

They'd never had it so I gave each boy a cautious slice.

My oldest boy shoved the whole thing in his mouth and starting moaning immediately.

"Mommy, this is soooooooo good. Mmmmmm. Mmm. Mmm. Mmm!!"

My little one was more tentative. He watched his big brother to make sure he didn't keel over or start frothing at the mouth.

Then he took a bite roughly the size of a fraction of an atom – a pretty generous bite for him. He cautiously moved it around on his tongue looking skeptical.

Then he made his decision.

"Mommy, I LOVE it. I love, love, love, love it SO much! This is my most favorite cheese ever! Thank you for buying this for us! I love it so much I can eat the whole thing, and I won't even share with anyone because I'm so hungry for this cheese. I can eat every single bite and then still want more and do you know what? I am sad there are only three more days of school because do you know what mommy? I want this in my lunchbox every day. Promise me okay? Every day until school is done. And do you know what? I bet that mousies would even like this cheese - don't you think this is what mousies would like? Because I do. I like it so much, so much mommy. Do you know what? I know I like it more than you because I love cheese the mostest of all my favorite foods! (of which there are approximately two) Can I have more mommy please because do you know what? This is the best cheese I've ever had and, wait...who has more cheese me or J because he doesn't like it as much as me and so I should have more – I should always, always have more of the things I love – like this cheese. And treats. Do you know what? I want you to buy some more tomorrow. Okay? Will you mommy? Will you? Mommy, stop, is that next piece for me? Make that next piece be for me, okay?  I weally, weally hope it's for me because I am so hungry for more of this cheese..."

He paused to take a breath and another nibble.

While he chewed I said "Well, I'm really glad you like it so much."

He looked at me and nodded and then slid off his chair leaving a huge pile of "The Best Cheese Ever" on the table.

"Yeah," he said. "But not that much."

It's a Life Sentence on Facebook.