With December and Christmas over, January always brings an air of calmness and simplicity for me. Instead of rushing into diets, gym schedules and stressful intentions I need to start right now (as it’s January), the month for me is reserved for contemplation, reflection and the joy of simplicity. Enjoying the simple things in life: a hot cup of cocoa (with cream and marshmallows), a good book, going to bed early as the nights draw in, spending time with my family, refocusing on what I want and what I want to do later in the year (with no pressure to get started).

As you can imagine, and as I imagine you know if you’re a parent, Christmas brings plenty of joy, excitement, over-stimulation and, of course, a shitload of new toys for the kids. I don’t mean to say that disrespectfully, as the people in our families have gifted wonderful things to our kids, as did we. And as the children grow, so do their needs and the needs for new toys … or do they?

Over the past week I have been feeling very frustrated with my home. After the cosiness and extravaganza of Christmas, I often long for a clear and clean look in my home. I thrive in taking down the garlands and fairy lights; I revel in the empty corner that was home to the Christmas tree; I love how everything gets back to their place – or even finds a new place, as putting everything back in place is the perfect time to rearrange some furniture and kick off the new year with a new look.

I felt the house was immensely cluttered (and, to be honest, I still feel that way), and we are suffocating in stuff. Things we’ve been wanting to get rid off for a long time still piled up in some corner, old toys that need to go because so many new ones now call our house their home; gifts that were well-meant but simply don’t fit in here (what to do with those?). When my home is cluttered, it is hard for me to calm my mind. I know that sounds like an excuse, and maybe it is, but it is, for me, the reality I find myself in.

Today, I took my kids to IKEA. I came home from work, super-tired. Again, I’d forgotten to pre-cook the night before (great housewife-ing skills going on here); I felt shattered and unwilling to go to an untidy home with two grumpy post-kindergarten kids who are too old to sleep and too young to soldier through (anyone else?). So, I took to them to IKEA. There we ate and, of course, I promised them a small toy. Unlike my husband, I choose my battles wisely, and the 4 Euro soft toy from IKEA wasn’t the hill I was prepared to die on.

Lily chose her 76th soft toy (or so it feels), while Finn chose an automatic train that works with the wooden Brio set. I was delighted. I thought he would be busy with it all afternoon, being automatic and stuff. I was slightly worried whether the soft toy would hold the allure over Lily once we were home (I wanted to have a break to write this, that’s another reason I felt like I needed to get them something).

When we came home, Lily dashed off to her room, her little soft dog christened Sophie nestled against her chest. She introduced the soft toy to all of her other soft toys and was busying herself for a long time. Meanwhile, Finn was frustrated with his train. It didn’t go the way he wanted, the buttons were too hard to understand, it constantly drove under furniture and got stuck (he was dead set against building a train track).

I was pretty upset about the train, too. While I’d hoped it would allow for a short reprieve, I was now chasing it from under the furniture, feeling increasingly annoyed. Eventually Finn lost interest and ran off. A few minutes later he came back with his box of STECKIs (this is not an ad for them, I don’t get paid for mentioning them). STECKIs are a motor skill building toy, the one you see in the top picture. From those, we built a flying motorbike with a light (which is also the top picture). I guess you can see it with lots of imagination. Next I knew, he was playing with it for a long period of time, just a bunch of STECKIs put together. Nothing automatic, not even something concrete, just his imagination at work.

Watching him, triggered the idea for this blog post. The simplicity was beautiful to behold. It was almost like a slap in the face (a good one), where you come to realise that it doesn’t have to be so much all the time. It doesn’t need automatic toys and thought-out concepts that keep our children busy. Mostly, the less the toy tells you to do, the better. Finn was in full control of his game, he wasn’t held hostage by the concepts conceived by an adult – and I am not writing an anti-capitalistic piece here that says we should only give our children sticks and stones to play, that’s not what it is about. I LOVE toys and buying them, but often I feel we think we need all of these things to make our children happy, to give them a happy childhood.

Another example, for Christmas, Lily got a doll that can talk, sing, etc. (it was a relative’s gift, as you can imagine). She likes it and the doll is beautiful, but she also got a small Vaiana doll (or Moana, depending on where you are), who can’t sing or talk and Lily loves it dearly. She’s coming with us everywhere (to IKEA today, for example). Lily does her hair, talks to her, plays with her. She doesn’t need her dolls to talk back, to sing, or even to poop (we all know which doll manufacturer I’m talking about). For the true magic of play lies in our imagination, and the more we take away from that with automatic toys, the less open the play can be. Finn’s biggest frustration with the train was that he couldn’t drive it himself, but could just watch it – I mean, when you think about it, that’s pretty boring.

I feel like I am constantly decluttering, but I am giving away so many toys that are actually still in perfect order – there is just too much stuff going around in our house. So one intention I am taking into this year, 2025, is simplicity. The joy of simplicity. The notion that we don’t need much to spark our imagination, that the simplest toys are often the best. That creativity and imagination dwell with simplicity. And also that we don’t need this perfect thing to get started.

This is a lesson I am taking for myself. I don’t need the perfect replica of a motorbike to play motorbike. I also don’t need the perfect detached country house to get started on my interior; I don’t need to have the perfect book to start writing and publishing again; I don’t need to have my dance programme perfected in order to excite people with it; I don’t need everything perfectly aligned to live my life.

Thank for reading.

X,
Angie