It all began quite innocently, the acquisition of my daughter’s very first lovie. We, as parents who try to remain conscious of not bestowing our children with mountains of STUFF.
We didn’t even see it coming.
With our first, our son, it was a non-issue. We didn’t even know such a thing could become problematic. That a child could become a fierce lovie collector. A possessive, feisty fireball of plush mountain domination. In every sense, a true hoarder.
That’s our daughter Abby up there, amongst perhaps 1/4 of her ever multiplying collection of stuffies. Her particular favorite these days is of the My Little Pony variety. But she doesn’t limit herself to just those. Oh. My. Word. The dolls! Everywhere! Tiny little animals and strange monsters and zombie-like things. She doesn’t discriminate, she pairs the odd with the cute like a little buddha with wisdom beyond her years, and accepts all regardless of appearance.
So I suppose there’s that.
I kind of adore how she treasures her little stuffed rats as much as her pretty ponies.
The problem is that her brood is a mountainous herd and they’ve taken over her bed.
Every day and every night it’s a battle to keep things tidy in there. They tumble about, spilling over the bed and falling to the floor. I suppose this is the complaint that many a parent can attest to. If it’s not lovies underfoot, it’s Legos underfoot — which are far more painful. It’s crayons broken and forgotten yet still in excess, markers missing their caps and forever getting tossed across the room in frustration.
It’s all part of parenting little ones.
No matter how much one tries to reign in the amount of toys, craft supplies and books … the madness just seems to happen. As much as I thought I wouldn’t contribute to such gluttony — I am, indeed — partly guilty.
I am a sucker for handmade plush, and have a thing for My Little Pony too. I didn’t even know that I did, until Abby showed an interest and her collection began. I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who has contributed to that collection. Every couple of months, her and I go on a little “date” just the two of us … and a pony ends up coming home with us. Perhaps I am living vicariously through her, enjoying a little bit of my own childhood all over again.
As cute as her affection for inanimate, plush objects is, it is also rather problematic. She breathes fire at anyone who tries to thin out her collection at bedtime and does not care that things have gotten quite ridiculous in there. It’s such an ordeal at bedtime to make room for her to go to sleep — but she actually enjoys it.
Myself, I’m not a fan of the 20-plus minutes she wants to take every night to line them all up perfectly, not to mention the distraction her little coven seems to provide when she should be sleeping. I definitely don’t want to build up her sense of entitlement. Perhaps now things seem innocent enough, but down the road it’s going to be technology she’s asking for, name-brand shoes and clothing, tablets, smart-phones, etc. I’m supposed to be preparing her to understand the concept of needing and wanting less — and working for what she gets.
I should probably switch gears now, before things truly do get out of control. Because as it stands — my daughter is indeed a hoarder and I have only myself to blame.