When packages arrived at the house in the early 2000’s, merchandise was packed in S-shaped Styrofoam puffs. Some were pale green, others were pink, but most of them where white.
White like snow!
Or so the children imagined. A package would arrive and if there were packing peanuts, they would immediately shove their hands deep into the box, Styrofoam puffs up to their chests. The rustling sound when they moved their fingers through them and the squeaky, cracking sound when the puffs broke in their hands added to their delight.
A fresh box of packing peanuts had arrived earlier that day. (Who cares what the merchandise was! There was a big box to climb in and there were Styrofoam puffs!) Three-year-old Daniel and six-year-old Paige began some of their best plans for packing peanut play. Just this once, Mom decided to watch instead of divert them from the inevitable disaster.
“Let’s fill Mom’s big pot with them,” Daniel suggested to Paige, and hurried to the kitchen. Soon there was a stew of Styrofoam simmering in the pot. Daniel decided that the box of remaining packing peanuts would be a tub of bubbly, warm water. Splash! Peanuts scattered everywhere in the kitchen when he jumped in. Paige joined him in the box for about six seconds before Daniel hopped out, ready for something new.
Next, Daniel decided that he wanted to sit in the pot filled with Styrofoam. He threw the puffs in the air as he sat in the cozy space, knees up to his chest.
It was snowing!
They decided to make a blizzard. They moved their game into the living room on the carpet. Peanuts flew, squeaking and rustling before their flight, landing on every surface and crevice in the room. Thousands of puffs littered the carpet, but Daniel discovered he could multiply their number by breaking them into tinier and tinier pieces…pieces so small they clung to his sweatpants, arms, shirt, hair, and carpet. He was a magnet for puffs because of newly-generated static electricity.
The boy became a crazed snow-making machine and he made a worthy effort to break each. and. every. piece. of Styrofoam into tiny bits. It happened quickly. Paige looked on, enjoying the spectacle, but feeling some apprehension creeping in.
Continuing in a whirling frenzy of destruction, Daniel scattered his foamy missiles everywhere. Small bits of foam clung to Daniel’s lashes and he paused to look at the scene. Something awakened his sense of sanity. Was it frustration that he couldn’t seem to brush off all of these bits of foam from his clothes? Was it that his tub of Styrofoam was scattered everywhere and therefore not as fun? Or was it his big sister’s wide blue eyes, staring at the mess in disbelief?
Mom had been watching the storm, waiting to see how far the kids would take the game. With this pause, she decided that if another piece of Styrofoam fell, she might go insane that it was time to clean up. Dad plugged in the vacuum and handed Daniel the hose. They raked the big bits from the carpet and gathered the pieces with the vacuum. Cleaning up a snowstorm wasn’t nearly as fun as making one. Bits of foam disappeared into the box. And Mom went to a quiet place in the house to sort out why she couldn’t enjoy playing with packing peanuts like everyone else…
and maybe to snicker softly at the memory of the disaster.
