The room where toys come to die

The room where toys come to die
6 October 2012

Cole’s bedroom – the room where toys come to die.

Man, spring cleaning – it really sucks!  Such a crappy job to do, but at times it’s unavoidable.  I suppose the trick is to be in the mood.  Because although unpleasant, it does help if you’re at least in a clean-up type of zone and just want to get stuck in and get stuff done.  And today?  Today was just that day.

The sudden urge was precipitated by the dreaded thought of what Cole’s bedroom would look like if I didn’t start before the new term began.  The new term which would inevitably herald the influx of new art work, sports paraphernalia, school bags, uniforms, etc.  And let’s face it, term time is just so busy, chances are that if I didn’t do it now, it would be Christmas before I wiped my eyes, and the pile just grew bigger.  It was now or never.

The first order of business was tipping over toy box after toy box.  Because although we have dedicated boxes for dedicated toys, when Cole tidies his bedroom, he simply chucks stuff into the first available box.  We’ve got boxes for sports gear (actually a big bin for those – it’s all tennis rackets, hockey sticks, cricket bats and wickets), big superhero’s, small superhero’s, soldiers, animals, cars, dinosaurs, guns (I know not very, PC, but so what – boys dig guns - and yes, we also have slingshots and the like), marbles, cards (regular playing cards, soccer cards, uno cards, rugby cards, you-name-it-cards), Lego pieces, etc. 

 

And then we have two boxes, none too small, dedicated completely to every hip and happening gadget and accessory that the superhero of today can simply not do without.  I mean how can Spiderman be expected to save the world without his snow shoes, shaped like tennis rackets?  Or Batman face down evil without his Batmobile and laser guns?  Or Superman come to our rescue without exchangeable capes , depending on his mood?  Or Power Rangers (for years and years Cole called them Power-Angels) without their body armour cladding?  Or Action Man without his Dive Board and Jet Ski?  Huh?  Or Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles without their skateboards and nunchucks?  I am merely scratching the surface here, believe you me.  Why, how any of these superhero dudes ever get to leave home, is beyond me?  They have so much accessorising to do, it must simply take them ages to get ready to just go out there and do their thing.  Do these shoes make my glutes look small?  Does this snow hoodie accentuate my pecs?  Which of my myriad of weapons should I pack in today, when Cole and I take on the plug in the bath during bath time?  And they say chicks dig accessorizing?  These superhero guys have sooo much crap!  And Cole seems to know what belongs to who or what, when it’s needed and why.  Personally, it’s quite beyond me.

So, superhero’s aside, this is just a little taste of what else you will find in an 8 year old little boy’s room.  Or perhaps only in my 8 year old little boy's bedroom.  Load and loads of dice.  Pieces of Lego, that you invariably step on, causing major damage to gentle feet.  Balloon bits – very interesting.  Enough fire power and weapon armoury to take down any third world country, and perhaps even some first world ones - okay, so they're not real, but if they were.....  Tangled medals – Cole simply can’t leave them alone.  Broken torches.  Coins.  Marbles of all sizes.  Rocks and stones?  More balls than you can every imagine.  Dinosaurs.  McDonald’s toys.  Dummy cell phones – Cole absolutely loves them, and is not shy to ask for a demo phone at a cell phone shop.  Four pirate eye patches.  Yip, four.  And all of them awesome, with printed skull and crossbones, the whole toot.  Shin pads.  Colouring-in books and pencils, even though there’s an embargo on writing utensils in the bedroom – carpets always seem to suffer.  And so the list goes on.

Now, all of this is pretty normal, I think.  All general, run of the mill, pretty average.  But what I did find rather alarming, was the rather large amount of amputee’s in Cole’s bedroom.  Is the boy perhaps secretly interested in the medical field?  Do I perhaps have a budding orthopaedic surgeon on my hands?  Is he doing experiments in prosthetics, hoping to further knowledge in this area?  If so, I must be honest, I am rather delighted.  My son, the doctor, has a marvellous ring to it.  Though, perhaps his intentions are far more sinister?  And this does not bear thinking about. 

Believe it or not, I made a huge pile, with not-so-abled superhero’s of all shapes and sizes.  And to be honest, my boy does not discriminate with body parts either.  The pile comprised arms, legs, hands, heads, whole bodies, headless wonders, legless wonders and armless wonders.

And me, being me, I didn’t turf them.  No sirree, Bob.  I made a little pile, which I greatly admired.  Then I packed them out nicely and took a photo of them.  And then, because I was not finished playing yet, I took all of the body parts along, and spelled out “HELP”, and took a photo.  I can’t imagine where Cole gets his ADD from?

But surely then when I was finished I turfed all of the body bits and bobs?  No, don’t be ridiculous!  Cole knows exactly which bits fit where and belong to whom.  And just think, if he ever wanted to build an ultimate type of superhero, he need go no further than his very own bedroom.  Why he could use Spiderman’s right leg, Action man’s left leg, Superman’s right arm, Power-Angel’s left arm, Captain America’s right hand, Donatello Ninja Turtle’s body and Batman’s head.  And if Cole doesn’t, perhaps I will…..

 

A band of misfits, so to speak

 

 

These toys cost me an arm and a leg, you know