kids are weird.

Or perhaps it’s just our Beatrix Honey that’s the weird one. The following snaps, however poorly documented (my camera likes to take a long time to load in-between shots) are a beautiful example of the neuroses that dominate this house because of a certain knee-high terror. Heaven forbid that Mama should try to intervene or get involved — in these crazed, ritualistic playtimes, I often warn guests that it’s best to keep your distance.

I had always objected to gross, commercial toys that are programmed for mass America. The beautiful bohemian idea I had when I was pregnant that my kid would only play with either hand-made, flea-market or Japanese toys soon went out the window when I realised that anybody with enough time to make all their kids toys, or alternatively spend hours hunting down the perfect one at the Salvation Army must either be Supermum, or have a brilliant nanny that I want the phone number of. Beatrix has a ridiculous amount of Japanese plush toys — Hello Kitty (“Kitty!”) and My Neighbour Totoro (“TOR!”) — which she adores, but the price tags are a little ludicrous for someone of my social standing.
So when I noticed that Bea had a real interest in dolls and make-believe (which, as all mothers think about their children, seemed incredibly advanced to me) I decided to invest in a hideously tacky Fisher Price doll house. The doll house then led to me buying multiple tubes of Little People to go in said-house (which I’m now cursing as I stand on thousands of them everyday..) which led to the fairly revolting little purple car we see in the below pictures. The real kicker is that Bea chooses not to use the Little People in any of these items, but rather cram them in Mama’s face while she’s half-asleep on the couch. She does use the car and the bus however, to transport anything else she can find. I wonder if this is creativity on her part, or a lack of understanding about sizes and perspective. Observe;


Because of the slow camera, I didn’t quite get this one in time, but she pushed the car around for a fair time carrying a cup of milk.

Then her baby got a ride. She got quite angry that it wouldn’t fit and I tried to help her, but of course, neurotic George Costanza Junior didn’t want Mama’s help, and threw a small fit. When she got over that, she decided to try….

Yeah… that’s gonna work.

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