I have a new toy. It is a just-for-Mama toy, not a kid toy or a Dad toy, which I am firmly convinced is a rare and unusual occurrence around this house, until I remember all my crafting supplies and the Young Scientists kits and my fishtanks (yes, more than one) and my felt stash and my yarn stash and my embroidery embellishments stash and my books, oh yes! I can’t forget my books…
I may possibly have too many toys.
Do craft supplies count as toys? I do think so… They bring me joy. They keep my hands and my mind busy. And they clutter up a room faster than you can blink, which is, after all, the essential nature of a toy, don’t you think?
But this toy… this toy is putting a little bit of a smile on my face every time I look at it. And I look at it a lot — it’s useful, you see. It’s a Fitbit.
It’s sleek, almost like some kind of crazy post-modernist jewelery that just happens to count my steps and my workout minutes and the number of flights of stairs or hills I’ve climbed, plus it tracks my sleep and vibrates against my wrist when it’s time to wake up or walk a child to school or any other thing I need reminding of.
The kids both want one desperately. B wants the vibrating alarm feature as beeping alarms are rather annoying. K can’t quite explain why he wants one, he just knows he wants one, and really, it isn’t an unreasonable thing to get a young man, is it?
I promptly informed them if they wanted one, they could buy it themselves.
The Man We Call Dad got involved in the conversation at this point. He oh-so-very-helpfully pointed out that they had almost bought me one for Christmas. Almost. But they weren’t sure if I would like it, or if I wanted one, or if I would use it.
He then pointed out that since I have large wrists and got the larger-sized wristband, it would probably fit his wrist nicely.
Before I knew what had happened, the Fitbit was wrapped firmly around The Man We Call Dad’s wrist and he was busily playing with all the functions and waving it around to see just how far you had to move for it to count a step.
Today, I’ve got my Fitbit firmly wrapped around my own wrist once more and I am determined that it is going to stay there. This is my new toy, after all, and I am finding myself curiously not inclined to share this one, not even a little bit. In fact, I am feeling downright selfish with my new Fitbit. It’s mine, you see. Allllll mine. And every time I look at it, I catch myself smiling a little bit of a smile.