Long Live The Stick

It's official. The stick has been inducted into the Toy Hall Of Fame. This is not THE STICK, a plastic, animated, noisy, computer-generated, character-driven, expensive, or rare toy. This is the stick, the one you find in your back yard at any moment. The one you pick up at the park. The one the dog chewed on. The stick.

I don't know about you, but this kind of thing makes me look around the house and wonder what all of the other crap is doing around here. We have toys and more toys. And the kids have an appetite for more toys. Will the grandparents have toys when they come and visit? Will I buy them something when we go to the store? Can they look through that toy catalog that came in the mail and let me know what they want on their wish list?

Still, sticks are more interesting. G collects sticks. She has dissolved in tears because I wouldn't let her bring sticks in the house or home from the park. Recently, we walked over a mile through our neighborhood and vicinity, and she collected an armful of sticks, which she carried home. It looked like a bundle of firewood under her arm. And she was tired on the way home, but wouldn't drop a single stick. She proudly displayed them on the front porch and still plays with the ones that didn't blow away in the wind.

The fact is that my kids will happily ignore the piles of toys, and spend hours outside playing with rocks and sticks. We have a mud pit in the yard specifically left untouched by any concept of landscaping, just so they can dig and make a huge mess. And they will go out with shovels (in dresses, of course), turn on the hose (in the rain, no less), and dig dig dig. And dig some more.

And so, my recommendation for next year's induction for the Toy Hall of Fame is mud.