The Exhausted Dad: The strange lives of Squishmallows

As someone prone to imagine the inner life of inanimate objects, I find it fun to consider what a retired Beanie Baby might think about the pop culture phenomenon of Squishmallows.

I imagine an old, wrinkly Beanie bear sitting in a rocking chair on her porch, scowling at the kids walking by with the new, must-have stuffed animal on the block. She’d be a real Salieri about Squishmallows, I think.

She’d say, “Squishmallows? Phooey! What a bunch of malarkey! We were just as squishy as them! And we had grown adults lined up for miles to buy us!”

For my kids, Squishmallows are the greatest toys in the world. The round, super-soft, Kawaii-inspired stuffies come in various sizes and varieties, plus each has a name and fun backstory. They can be animals or food items with faces, or you can choose one inspired by your favorite pop culture license.

My kids don’t collect Squishmallows. Instead, they cherish each one they have like a member of the family, and they’re even pretty resistant to the idea of more coming to live with us.

For their birthdays this year, my wife and I asked if anyone wanted any new Squishmallows to join the ranks.

One answered: “What?! No! We don’t want Manny or Mya to think we’re replacing them!

Mya and Manny are Squishmallows. Mya is an ice cream cone and Manny is a snowman. I’d tell you the origin story my 6-year-old son made up for them, but I don’t have enough space in this column to do the entire saga justice.

The most prominent Squishmallow in the family is Leonard, a lion-themed stuffy with wild, rainbow-colored hair for a man. He belongs to my 10-year-old son.

Leonard has a big personality. We have a contentious relationship.

Leonard speaks in a high-pitched nasally voice, and he’s almost always rattling on about pizza. Leonard, I’m told, eats pizza all the time.

My son: “Leonard eats 10,000 pizzas a second. He eats all day and night and doesn’t sleep. I hear him munching away at night.”

Creepy, I say. I just hope that lion never gets a hankering for human flesh.

When not eating pizza, Leonard teases me. He sits in my spot on the couch, nudges me in the face and frequently threatens to bite me. I tell my son that he better talk to him about his behavior or else I’m going to punch Leonard’s teeth straight out of his mouth.

My son: “You can’t do that. Leonard doesn’t have teeth!”

Me: “Then how is he eating pizza and threatening to bite me all the time?”

My son: “Leonard is kidding. He just wants your attention.”

And so, lately, I’ve been trying to be extra nice to Leonard. I pet him whenever I see him on the couch. I rub his belly and he purrs. I say goodnight to him after I say goodnight to my son at bedtime. At times, our relationship is one of peace and mutual respect.

Then, sometimes I trip over him in the middle of the living room, which then leads me to tripping into some other, less squishy toy. In my frustration, I grab that pesky Big Cat and toss him across the room and into the hallway.

He screams, “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!”

Well, you know, my son screams, “Noooooooooo!” when he witnessed my betrayal. But when it happens when my son is not around, I’ve caught myself voicing Leonard’s frustration.

One time when my son wasn’t in the room, I tossed Leonard down the stairs and into the basement. On his way down, Leonard somehow yelled, “You have double-crossed the wrong lion. Consider this alliance officially severed!”

I made it better by buying him some pizza and rubbing his belly. Even still, I routinely get the stink-eye from Leonard. I’m afraid I’m going to wake up one morning to find Leonard hovering over me with a butcher knife.

Lucky for me Leonard doesn’t have arms.

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Tyler Wilson is a freelance writer, full-time student, and parent to four kids, ages 6-10. He is tired. He can be reached at twilson@cdapress.com.