Apparently Lyd’s Kindergarten Classmates have been very good students lately, good enough where they were given a couple of treats for today. It was brought to a vote, and decided by simple majority that today would to be “Come To School in your PJs” day, and they would all get to watch a movie. Lyd told me that she was also allowed to bring her favorite toy to school today.
I do not know if that is true (she’s been trying to get her favorite toy into her backpack for nearly two years now.) I shrugged, not the hill I felt like dying on. If she made this up, I’m sure her teacher would deal with it properly.
She chose Clyde Frog. This is a big deal, Clyde is the undisputed leader in Lyd’s impressive arsenal of toys. In a Toy Story sort of world, Andy’s Woody the Cowboy would be Lydia’s Clyde Frog.
The farther along I get into this parenting gig, I find myself wondering with a chuckle, “Was Toy Story really a fictional story?” As a result of that question, I’ve become a little more sensitive to her toys. Clyde no longer gets tossed onto Lyd’s bed as I go about tidying the House, I place him on the bed now. Besides following the Golden Rule, there’s a practical reason for this, the last thing we need is for that frog to pop a seam. There. (Clearing my throat) That’s the reason. Right?

But back to Toy Story and its dubious fictional concept, I see the effect her toys have on Lyd. Sometimes she hits this zone, this higher plateau of play, kind of a zen-like state. Everything, and I mean everything fades away. The Living Room becomes a palace or a valley or whatever her imagination may require. I’m gone, Annie’s gone. Regina, well for the most part she’s gone, but not if she has anything to do with it. If you put on Lyd’s imagination goggles, I think Regina turns into a tornado or Godzilla. But Lyd goes so very deep into her playtime place, and in that place, her toys truly do come to life, they have to come to life when play time happens, particularly when one achieves Gandalf-level play. They are living breathing beings, muses, inspiration, facilitators in whatever role needed for whatever plot is forming as it’s happening in Lydia’s mind.
Why shouldn’t they be alive? That plush giraffe is browsing on that tree after all. Explain that to me Daddy!
It’s an incredibly compelling thing to watch Lydia when this level of play happens. I could literally watch it all day. Once upon a time, she was little more than a six pound ball of flesh that slept, ate, cried, puked and pooped. And now—Well I need to know how this story wraps up! Seriously, I’m a bit worried for this pony!
So as you go about your Home today, picking up after your little one for the fifth, sixth, eighth time, take a longer look at those toys. Are you certain they don’t come alive when you step out of the room? Who knows what kinds of behind the scenes drama is unfolding from within their circle. Which one is Woody? Which one is Buzz?