The Grandma With the Cool Toys
When I was a kid, I didn’t want dolls or games for Christmas. Nope. I wanted supplies. Nothing thrilled me more than my annual “Busy Box” from Santa—fresh crayons, juicy markers, construction paper, glitter pens, glue sticks… a creative buffet. It wasn’t a toy, really. It was a creativity kit… and my personal invitation to cover every surface in the house with glue and sparkle. (Not really, but the possibility was there.)
But once we left home and headed to the Grandma’s? Let’s just say, the toy situation was… underwhelming.
At Grandma Is’s house, there was a black vinyl briefcase stuffed with coloring books and crayons. They were… meh. Not ancient, but not inspiring either. I only cracked that thing open if I was desperate. I much preferred playing cards—Solitaire, Old Maid, Kings in the Corner, and Zilch (dice game)—with Grandma at the table, where the snacks were close and the conversation was better.
There was also a little box of my mom’s “Gini dolls.” Honestly, they looked like haunted antiques. You know how people now call things “vintage” to make them sound cute and collectible? Yeah, no. These dolls looked like they’d burst into a cloud of dust if you breathed too hard on them. I also remember paper dolls…but the tiny cardboard clothes never stayed on. Those flappy little tabs were no match for my clumsy fingers. Not fun. Not fabulous.
Grandma Doris’s house wasn’t much better in the toy department. The coloring books had pages that had turned a sad shade of beige, and the crayons were definitely not Crayola. They felt more like waxy soap than something you’d actually want to draw with. Upstairs—if you were lucky enough to sneak past the grownups—there were some of my dad’s and uncle’s old toys. I vaguely remember an orange and gold scarecrow thing with a dart gun that made him fall apart when you hit the target. It was fun… once. Then it got confiscated “for safekeeping,” never to be seen again.
Mostly, I was expected to chill quietly while the adults played cards and tried to avoid tripping over “Nipper,” Grandma’s yappy little Chihuahua. Nipper hated me. His toenails clicked across the kitchen linoleum like a tiny tap-dancing gremlin as he scampered back to his ratty blanket in the corner. I still hear that sound in my nightmares.
But now? Now I’m the grandma. And I’ve vowed to be the kind of grandma whose house rocks.
It started innocently enough. A few blocks—colorful ones from my old classroom. Then I added a basket of board books. And of course, balls for the backyard and dinosaurs. So. Many. Dinosaurs. We have big ones, plush ones, squishy rubber ones, and one that roars and flashes its growing teeth like something out of Jurassic Park. (It terrified Jr. at first, but he likes it now.)
There are crayons (the good kind), Bluey coloring pages, and giant sheets of paper for wild, messy masterpieces. I’m already plotting future sensory adventures with homemade playdough and shaving cream finger painting on our glass-topped table—just like I did when my own kids were little.
Because every kid deserves a Busy Box. And every grandkid deserves a grandma whose house is filled with fun. Even if it means glitter in the carpet, dinos underfoot, and snacks in the crayon drawer. Worth it.
Click here to check out other Sidetracked opinions
Click here to listen to the Sidetracked Legacies podcast
Want to create your own legacy? Join the Sidetracked Sisters and start now!
Ever thought about working with a Life Coach? Are you creative or a writer who is frustrated with your inability to do the work you so desperately feel called to do? Check out Lisa Hoffman Coaching.
#sidetrackedsisters #sidetrackedlisa #sidetrackedlegacies #legacywriting #legacystories #writeyourownlegacy #LisaHoffmanCoaching
