Feminism and the Modern Toddler

For my girls' second Christmas, I asked my mom and sister-in-law to buy them kitchen items for pretend play - the little velcro carrots and eggplant, a loaf of french bread with "cutting" board and plastic knife, and mini cardboard boxes of cereal and milk. One even came with a child sized shopping cart with optional hand held basket for those shorter trips.

I loved the sets. My girls - not so much. They couldn't quite get the handle (pun!) of the knife, nor the cutting motion needed to un-stick the velcro partners. The cardboard boxes soon became flattened into the carpet, like discarded recycling. Holding onto hope, I dutifully put the scattered plastic produce away each night, and re-shaped and taped the cereal boxes.

I was thrilled when my boss ("Auntie T") brought in pictures on her iPhone of her daughter's hand-crafted wood kitchen set, complete with fridge, stovetop/kitchen sink, dishwasher, washer, dryer - all with moving parts! At first, they loved opening and closing the doors, but never quite got the full gist of the beauty that lay before them. I imagined them spending hours (ha ha) engrossed in pretend baking, cooking and shopping.

A friend generously donated his spice jar collection to add to their ever-growing kitchen accessories. I meticulously cleaned them and set them out like little glass trophies. I even filled one with coffee beans for the shaker effect.

Nada.

Not giving up, I arranged for the procurement of two identical miniature muffin tins at the neighbor's garage sale for a quarter each.

I scoured our kitchen drawers for duplicated items that I could relocate to the kitchen replica that was evolving in the playroom.

I snagged two plastic colanders from the dollar store.

Our old camping pots and pans were relegated to imaginary play when we upgraded our camper.

I found a bargain on a Princess tea set in the toy section of a discount department store.

I mail ordered a dozen styrofoam eggs, after they expressed an interest in the plastic Easter egg variety, thinking this would jump start their interest. After all, they loved making scrambled eggs with me, demanding I allow them to crack the egg, shell and all, into the bowl and take turns stirring. (sigh)

Over a year later, the entire collection sits in the corner of their playroom like an unloved pet. They would much rather pester me in MY kitchen, despite my plea suggestion to "go make muffins in Your kitchen!"

Is this an example of the grass-is-always-greener? Or are they budding feminists bucking the system and striking for women's lib in the kitchen?

Perhaps I should have bought them a tool bench.


Play kitchen "glory" days. Temper tantrum by Tristyn.