I’ve never been one for toys. I didn’t play with them much as a child, I hated cartoons, and was totally against anything remotely child-like. It was just never my thing. My brothers and sisters all watched Sesame Street and I didn’t care for it.

With friends, I wanted to ride my bike and hit the neighborhood until the street lights came on which meant it was time to go home.

Some kids in the neighborhood would come over, just so that they could “jump” which translates to getting on our huge trampoline in the back yard. After awhile, we all started to get picky about who could come and jump and who couldn’t.

During the summer, my parents would let us have sleepovers on the trampoline where we’d cram 10 kids in sleeping bags, feet in the middle, to sleep.

But I have a weakness, stuffed animals. Tigers to be exact and I’ve got several of them. All lovely named by those who have bought them for me and displayed with pride. In my adult marital bedroom like they’re some kind of trophies of my accomplishments.

In the long run, I’m learning how to love kid things outside of my stuffed animals and enjoying playing – along side my 2 year old.

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