If you’ve got a toddler, you know the drill. One week they’re completely consumed by one show, one toy, one thing—and then, just as suddenly as it started, they’ve moved on to the next obsession. Welcome to the rotation.
The Phases of Kayden
My three-year-old son Kayden has given me a masterclass in the toddler obsession cycle. Let me walk you through his greatest hits:
The Cocomelon Era (mercifully brief)
Like most pandemic parents, we discovered Cocomelon. And like most parents who eventually Googled ‘is Cocomelon bad for toddlers,’ we quietly phased it out. No judgment if you’re still in it—we’ve all been there, desperately needing 20 minutes to make dinner. But once we learned about the overstimulation concerns, we moved on. Kayden didn’t seem to mind.
The Trash Truck Phase
Then came Trash Truck on Netflix—a surprisingly wholesome show about a kid and his… well, trash truck best friend. Kayden was ALL in. He’d wave at every garbage truck we passed like they were celebrities. Honestly? Pretty adorable.
The Helper Cars Moment
This one came and went like a summer storm. Intense while it lasted, then suddenly he couldn’t care less. I still don’t fully understand what Helper Cars was about, but for two weeks it was the only acceptable content in our house.
The Hot Wheels Golden Age
Ah, Hot Wheels. This phase was a gift to my wallet. At a dollar or two per car, I could be the hero dad multiple times per Target run. We’d hunt for specific cars—the blue one, the fast one, the one that looked like a shark for some reason—and Kayden would clutch his new treasure the whole way home. Our house became a sea of tiny metal cars that I’d find in couch cushions, shoes, and once memorably, the refrigerator. But at those prices? Worth it.
The Paw Patrol Reign (current)
And now we’ve arrived at Paw Patrol. This isn’t a phase—this is a lifestyle. Chase, Marshall, Rubble—Kayden knows them all. He has opinions about them. Strong opinions. We’re currently in the thick of it, and I have a feeling this one’s going to stick around for a while.
(Also, RIP to my Hot Wheels-era budget. Paw Patrol toys are… not a dollar.)
The Target Treasure Hunt
Here’s the thing about toddler obsessions: they come with a side quest for parents. You become a hunter-gatherer, but instead of foraging for berries, you’re scouring Target and Walmart for that one specific Paw Patrol figure your kid saw once in a YouTube thumbnail.
Last weekend, I hit three stores looking for a Rubble toy. Rubble. The construction pup. Apparently every other parent in Southern California had the same idea.
But here’s what I’ve realized: these shopping trips aren’t really about the toys. They’re about paying attention. They’re about knowing what lights up your kid’s face. They’re about saying ‘I see what you love, and I want to be part of it.’
The Nostalgia Loop
The wildest part of watching Kayden cycle through his obsessions? The deja vu.
I was a kid once. (Hard to believe, I know.) And I had my own phases:
Ghostbusters. I wanted to BE a Ghostbuster. I had the proton pack. I had the jumpsuit. I was ready for any paranormal activity in suburban Minnesota.
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Donatello was my guy—the smart one with the stick. I had the action figures, the pizza shooter van, the whole nine yards.
So when Kayden picks up a Ninja Turtle toy at the store, or when he randomly starts humming the Ghostbusters theme (where did he even learn that?), something shifts in my chest. It’s pure nostalgia, but it’s more than that. It’s this weird, beautiful realization that he’s living the same magic I lived. Different characters, same wonder.
The Real Lesson
These phases feel fleeting because they are. In six months, Paw Patrol might be a distant memory, replaced by dinosaurs or superheroes or something I’ve never heard of. That’s how it works.
But that’s exactly why it matters. These obsessions aren’t distractions—they’re doorways. They’re how our kids learn to love things, to commit to something fully, to experience joy without reservation.
And they’re invitations for us to show up. To sit on the floor and play. To learn the characters’ names. To drive to one more Target because maybe that one has the toy.
Kayden won’t remember every toy I bought him. But somewhere in there, he’ll remember that his dad was paying attention. That his dad got it.
And honestly? That’s the whole point.