Did you ever think your toys were moving around and playing and having a whole existence while you weren’t looking when you were a kid?  I did.  Then I read The Little Princess and she ran to the keyhole after she shut her bedroom door to try and “catch” her dolls moving.  But they always froze back when they knew she was looking.  Then Toy Story came out and made me even more suspicious of my toys.  I had porcelain dolls and some times I couldn’t sleep under their gaze.  They were Always. Staring.  It’s a lot of pressure.

Then I read Goosbumps:  Monster Edition #2 (I think this is the title, I had to do a littleGoogling to find out) by R.L. Stine about an evil ventriloquist dummy who was thrown in the trash and a teddy bear who was shelved when a new one came along and their evil and twisted revenges (I think that’s a word).  These events involved harming the child (which I was at the time) and other toys.  Really. Freaked. 10 year-old.  Me. Out.  (Also, during this time, I wasn’t sleeping because I was convinced that murderers were going to break into our house in the middle of the night and kill me in my sleep.  My bedroom was the first one at the top of the stairs and in my prayers every night, I prayed that the murderers/rapists get me first so that my screams would wake my parents and brother and give them time to escape–lesson, don’t let your kids watch Unsolved Mysteries or America’s Most Wanted.)  These stories led me to believe my stuffed animals were going to be jealous of each other and try to kill me in my sleep if I showed one more attention than another.  So, in addition to not sleeping for 6 months, and spending a lot of time banging on my parents door and crying in the hallway (they decided the best way to deal with my fear and anxiety was to lock their bedroom door and ignore me) I also made sure every stuffed animal I owned was on my bed all night long.  That meant I was barely able to fit onto my bed because I had to have 20+ animals on the bed every night.  And then I lain awake, afraid of people coming into the

house and of the animals in the bed with me.  Then I got a cat and for some reason I felt my 8 ounce kitten would protect me from murderers and the toys.  She was obviously the toughest kitten ever because I’m still here.  (She totally told those stuffed animals who’s boss)


Why am I sharing this with you now, at this joyous holiday season?  Well, if you didn’t already know, I’m a little deranged.  Probably because I was scared out of my mind and not sleeping and my parents locked me out of their room and forced me to cry and have panic attacks in the dark hallway outside their bedroom.  Also, because several of you are about to give your children the wonderful gifts of toys.  And toys can be really scary.  Think about that. Bam!