I have admitted in earlier columns that my quest to lead my family toward a less consumer-driven life is a new-ish development for me. I fear Madison Avenue’s lure and tactics, as I have worked in media designed to lure people into a consumer trap to buy stuff they don’t need. I also love stuff, and have until recently gathered shiny, funky, mid-century modern-esque things, that now sit in boxes after two or three moves waiting to be unpacked. As my husband Hova and I stomp through middle age in our combat boots and sneakers (Doc Martens and Converse, to come fully clean), we are trying to acquire less and find ways to enjoy what we have, or get rid of stuff that no longer feels relevant.

So it comes to pass that I have a box full of old toys, bought long before Georgia was an inkling in my head. The consumer craze I fell prey to worst, was the Powerpuff Girls. I have Powerpuff keychains, pencil sharpeners, plush dolls, stickers, trading cards and seven Powerpuff Girl Play Sets. "Mint in Box!" All the boxes ended up in a larger box, and 3000 miles and several years later they sat in the basement. Until this weekend.

Georgia had been sick for ten days, first with strep and then with a nasty cold. She’s usually very energetic, but for most of the ten days she rested, sipped tea, nibbled bits of food, and rested some more. We read a bit, but since I had to work for many of those days I employed the television much more than usual. When she finally got bored of Bill Nye (it took awhile, those were funny shows!), and when I could watch with her, I put in the Powerpuff Girls. They were funny, violent, empowering and enjoyable, and I knew it was time to open the box.

It was hard for me. Six unopened boxes of perfectly designed, high quality plastic action toys. I imagined checking their worth on Ebay before I let her play with them, but I bravely and gingerly worked my way through the tape, twist ties and plastic wrap and… the toys and I were free. As I set up seven plays sets, Georgia's tired imagination took hold. We apprehended the evil Mojo Jojo over and over, answering the hotline, flying through the breakaway wall, and it occurred to me that, yup, toys are meant to be played with. What's the point if they aren't being enjoyed?

Am I encouraging the TV/Toy connection? Undoubtedly. Maybe I should have secreted them out through the Ebay funnel. There may be no going back, but an afternoon of pure, crazy play broke my "Mint in Box" spell for good.