Last week I took both kids to New York for a little escape from Amish life. When the plane touched down at La Guardia, and Manon was knocked over by this guy, I knew we were going to have a great time in America.

America is loud. And happy, and huge, and oh my god, my children LOVE it. The slot machines inside The American Girl Place on 5th Avenue were incredible. When Manon won a blowout for Bristalle Christine the rollup was intense. A thousand lights and bells screamed “YOU WIN!” She’s addicted and I have to craft an intervention.

How do I wean my children from this amazing, sensual feast and convince them that playing “seamstress” still has its merits? One thing I do know is that imagination and intelligence come not from building a princess cupcake tower, but from dumping out the trash and categorizing it by shape and size and filth factor.

Here’s a toy I bought for Manon a few years ago. I can’t remember where I found it. No bells. No lights. The wheels fall off every few weeks and I shove them back on with love and chewing gum. Best toy I’ve ever gotten her.