In-home Safaris and Other Boxy Ventures

Who knew Amazon boxes were Transformers?

In the first four months of the pandemic, we bought everything online. We did our bit to make the then richest man in the world, Jeff Bezos, even richer.

When it comes to online shopping, hubby is nothing if not trigger-happy. Our daughter, who stayed with us for three months at the start of the pandemic, clearly has the gene. And our son-in-law, who joined us alternate weeks, is no slouch either.

Three sets of trigger-happy fingers.

Two cardboard boxes — at a minimum — sitting outside our front door every day.

And one mid-sized living room in which said boxes competed with the furniture for floor space. But no worries. We had a box-cutter stationed handily on the mantelpiece and a protocol for disposing of the boxes:

1. Empty box. 2. Slice open with box-cutter. 3. Collapse and stack in sunroom. 4. Lay boxes curbside for pickup.

It was a neat little system — except that the recycling truck only comes by Thursdays. And we are a family of proud procrastinators.

So, the empty boxes sat around the house all week until Wednesday evening — until one of us took the box-cutter off the mantelpiece.

The real protagonists

But the movers and shakers of this story aren’t the slow-to-act adults. The protagonists are the grandkids, Aju and Kai.

A&K, then ages six and four, held an out-of-the-box view of the boxes.

For the adults, the treasure was the thing inside the box. For the kids, the treasure was the box — and the potential it held to transform into just about anything.

The adults’ procrastination was a gift to A&K.

It bought them time to sift through the boxes. And to pick those best suited to the projects brewing in their imaginations. A&K’s boxy ventures were wide-ranging and diverse. Their portfolio included transportation, construction — even gaming.

Boxy ventures

Transportation: The kids made a pull-along train for their toys to ride in. They did this by joining boxes together with pajama tape. (Hubby helped them make the holes through which they wove the tape.)

Construction: They turned a large box on its side, so the open end faced them. They crawled inside. “Our living room,” Aju announced.

They added more boxes. Kitchen, bedroom, and study. They furnished the rooms with Kai’s pink toy furniture. Stocked the kitchen with fake food. Finally, they ran a linen sheet along the tops of the boxes — to visually gather the rooms under a single roof.

Grown-ups needed special permission to squash themselves inside the residence.

Gaming: They picked two boxes — one large, the other small. Each box rested against the sofa in the living room, so the open end faced the players.

Now, from a pre-determined distance, you rolled a tennis ball into the boxes. You scored 20 points for getting the ball into the small box. 10 points for the large one.

The game kept them (and us) occupied for two days.

Legally boxed in

Fun and games notwithstanding, every Wednesday evening turned into a courtroom drama. This was when the parents got out the box-cutter, and the kids refused to surrender their chosen boxes.

A&K appealed right away to a higher court — hubby and self — if the parents refused to give up their claim. They petitioned loudly and vocally to be awarded at least half their boxes.

The court usually ruled in favor of the minor plaintiffs.

In the third week of July, Aju turned seven. Presents arrived for the birthday boy. More boxes. An embarrassment of riches.

This time, A&K wasted no time on legalities. As soon as we emptied the boxes, they moved in with crayons, scotch tape, and markers. Then they claimed squatters’ rights to a sizable portion of the property.

Square spots

From my vantage point in the kitchen, I watched A&K inspect the boxes, then select two. They positioned the smaller one on top of the larger and taped them together. But the scotch tape would not hold.

“What are you making?” I asked.

“A cheetah,” Aju replied.

“Okay,” I said.

I got out the duct tape. They cut small lengths of tape, but it stuck to their fingers. So, I snipped it for them. They were okay with me helping.

Technically, grandparents don’t count as adults.

They joined together the head and body of the cheetah. Armed with a black sharpie, Aju drew the face — complete with the cheetah’s signature “tears.”

I suggested they draw the spots with a black crayon.

“We don’t want spots that are flat,” Aju said.

They cut squares out of thick cardboard, colored them black, then stuck the squares onto the cheetah.

Square spots. Stylized, stylish even, and undeniably non-flat.

“Very nice,” I said.

In-home safari

“We’re going to have our own safari,” Kai announced.

Over that week, a pair of cheetahs, two giraffes, and one each of gazelle, zebra, and elephant appeared in our living room. With so many occupants — human and cardboard — the living room looked kind of crowded.

“Do you like our safari?” Aju asked.

And hubby — who had been so anti-clutter pre-grandkids — said, “Cool!”