If you’ve never heard of a Squishmallow, this was me three months ago. Fast forward to today, and I’m a grandma-on-a-mission. That’s right, I’m continually on the hunt for the elusive Squishmallow, the Beanie Baby of 2021, the equivalent–ounce for ounce–of stuffed animal gold. I know all their names. I know the rare, hard-to-find ones. I know a good deal on Ebay when I see it. In short, I’m actually kind of a Squishmallow expert (or lunatic, whichever title you prefer).

My granddaughter is amassing quite a collection, thanks to her Squishmallow savvy and my persistence. Squishmallows have taken over her bed, and recently she admitted to sleeping in a corner, so as not to topple the precious pile she’s lovingly organized. She’s since moved some to a floor pillow (never on the bare floor, Grandma!) These days, she’s talking about some kind of organizer, so she can reclaim a legitimate spot on her bed. And I should help her out, should care more about the quality of her sleep, should just say NO and stop looking for/buying them. But . . .

Few retailers carry them, which means most collectors must visit online sites like Ebay and Mercari. The Squishmallow folks know how scarcity drives such a market. And they’ve capitalized on marketing through Instagram influencers who post amazing photos of their Squishmallow “finds” and curated collections. A clerk at our local Walgreens admitted that a family had driven 45 miles and waited in the parking lot as the truck was being unloaded. They actually snatched some right out of the truck and rushed to check out. After hearing this, my granddaughter and I just looked at each other in resignation. There were clearly people in-the-know, and we weren’t part of this privileged group. Did they have an inside source which gave them an unfair advantage? We were certain that they did.

You know that you’ve probably crossed over from interest to obsession when you admit to your granddaughter that just once, you’d like to see shelves of Squishmallows on display in a real store. This weekend, our Walgreens received a considerable shipment of Squishmallows. It was the mother load! So, who could blame a Squishmallow afficianado for driving to town. My daughter said that she saw me fly down the lane and turn towards town. I think fly is a bit of an exaggeration (or not).

Walking briskly–not running, mind you–I entered the store and went straight to the aisle I knew that they’d be in. And there they were: five shelves of Squishmallows in a variety of sizes and styles. I looked over my shoulder, expecting to see other collectors crowding in, reaching in front of me and snatching up entire rows. But I was alone, gloriously alone. I limited myself to three. On the first trip into town, that is. I went back the next day and bought two more. I boasted to my family that I didn’t want to become one of those hoarders who buys all of them and resells them for huge profits on Ebay. Five shows restraint. Five is reasonable, I thought.

And why not? The hours I’ve spent with my granddaugther–researching, planning our next hunt, comparing and contrasting our favorites–are priceless. I’m painfully aware that this phase won’t last long, that she will grow up and out of Squishmallows. But while it lasts, I’m all in.

P.S. If anyone can hook me up with an Archie, the axolotyl, that I could buy without mortgaging my home, I’d undoubtedly be the coolest grandma ever.