A few weeks ago, I ranted and raved about the danger in which I put myself and my children when I struggle to open their toys' packages. I received a lot of comments from like-minded individuals. My favorite: "I am a service tech (HVAC)and a father of three, and the first thing I do when it is time to open the holiday gifts is make my way out to my service van and grab my tool bag ... The best tool for you to have is a set of wire cutters, linemans pliers, needle nose pliers, dikes or some form of plier with a wire cutter on it." Great! So all we need is a fully-equipped industrial-strength tool box.

My children, as they're quite cute and I can't resist them, received several new toys this year, nearly all from Mattel, Inc. (NYSE:MAT)'s Fisher Price unit. I thought I was exaggerating, just a little bit, when I mentioned hunting knives and threat of bodily harm when I wrote my original piece. But no.

One package, that holding the Diego Talking Rescue 4x4 (for which I paid $15.99 at Fred Meyer), took three adults about 15 minutes to open. One metal-reinforced twisty in particular was so well-wrapped that both my dad and I worked on it. Dad got out his new utility hunting knife, bought at Baker's General Store by my mom for a stocking stuffer. The twisty tie broke his knife. To quote Dave Barry, I am not making this up.

Another toy, the Little People Lil' Movers Dump Trucks (suggested ages: one year old), took me over 20 minutes to untwist from its packaging. It only has three pieces, but yet it must have had six or eight twisties, all tied and bent and threaded so securely that I almost gave up and returned the darned thing.

Mattel! What are you thinking? What good could possibly come of this ultra-secure packaging?

I remember how innocent I was, long before I was a parent. Do you remember that time? When you were young, perhaps it was the 80s, or the early 90s. You imagined bringing a baby into your home one day, certainly, it was far off in the future but the image was clear, if a bit soft-focused around the edges: all was fuzzy, wuzzy, warm, soft, and gentle. If you imagined your home with a kitchen, in fact, the knives were all tucked safely away in a hand-oiled maple block somewhere, way, way back on the counter.

[Big sound of brakes squeaking, wheels skidding, cars smashing into walls, screams...]

And then, I became a parent in the new millennium. And my world was filled with the most fearsome, warlike cutting implements. Industrial-strength scissors that came apart at the hinge so you could sharpen them daily. Hunting knives with a whetting stone, glistening next to the sink (where I keep my gentle organic hand soap). A typical day in my first child's infancy might find my knuckles raw, my fingers calloused, battle wounds all over my fingers.

I'd been faced with my children's toy packaging.