By Heather O.
Call out an exorcist, people. There’s some evil spirits in our midst. They blink pretty lights, they sing pretty songs, and they’re driving me batty. They are the possessed toys in my house.
I’m here to tell you, however, that’s putting up with me because I’m cute is just NOT your job. That duty falls squarely at my husband’s feet, thank you very much, along with cleaning poop out of the bathtub on the baby’s fourth performance of her newfound “talent” and cleaning up gingerbread dog vomit.
YOUR job is to tell me how to get rid of the demons that are possessing my children’s play things.
It used to be just the remote controlled car. At any given time, the car would suddenly rev, perhaps even twirl a wheel or two. Dh and I would laugh, thinking that it had something to do with a circuit, or whatever. Did you see how I slipped that specialty word in there, “circuit”? You now have the extent of my electrical knowledge, gleaned from a science project about light bulbs in 5th grade.
So we put up with this little who for a while, and then I would get up and turn the remote control car off.
It would still rev.
Once, WHILE IT WAS IN THE PILE TO BE THROWN AWAY AFTER THE REMOTE HAD ALREADY BEEN DESTROYED, yep, you guessed it. It revved. It was like some creepy pint-sized version of Herbie, only without the racing, and definitely without the love.
We went without possession for quite a while, but the ghost has manifested itself again, this time in a cow.
We’ve had this cow for years. It’s a simple toy, where the cow is anatomically correct, except for the no udders and mirror for body and wheels for feet issues. The idea is that the baby looks into the mirror and thinks, “Hey, there’s another baby in here!” and then socks the crap out of the supposed rival, at which point the cow rolls backwards, which triggers some moos, a light, and a lovely song about Old McDonald. Think cow tipping for the very young and tone deaf.
The cow will now serenade us during dinner, blinking her little cow bell light, singing her little moo-moo song, all while we are no where near the heifer. It’s creepy, I tell you. Creepy.
The latest manifestation is the most fiendish. My neighbor gave me a big toy that, as far as I can tell, serves no real purpose other than to bug me. It’s a little door frame, where you can open and shut the door, stick shapes, push buttons, slide mail into the mail slot, and flip the “address” around. When you spin the little numbers in their dial, a lovely tune plays.
The demon in question apparently loves this tune. Because he plays it. In the middle of the night. Repeatedly. In my sick baby’s room. WHEN NOBODY BUT MY SICK BABY IS IN THE ROOM. And nothing makes a momma want to throw something as much as hearing a sick baby get woken up by an inanimate object.
But it’s not like I can unplug this thing. I suppose I can take out the batteries, but a logical explanation fails me as to how or why this toy goes off so often, and why it goes off so often WHEN EVERYBODY IS SUPPOSED TO BE SLEEPING.
I’m sorry, am I using caps too much in this post? Do you feel like I’m shouting? WELL I’M A LITTLE PERTURBED. AT THE DEMONS. THE EVIL ONES.
And if this thing wakes up my family one more time, it is so going in the trash. Do you hear that, little demon? IN THE TRASH.
Any spells to excise toy demons would be heartily appreciated at this moment. If not, then, um, well HEY, looks like we’ll be hosting another giveaway! Woo-hoo!
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