Dear Nirvana Reader,
I come to you. Not because others have. I come to you to tell my story of havoc. I come to you to not for sympathy. Bah Humbug on sympathy. I don’t need any therapeutic talk. My life delights me.
I am Holly’s toy closet.
I am situated next to the living room in a convenient location under the stairs. My expanse is great. My ceilings are angled. Holly designed me with 5 shelves filled with wicker baskets and enough space to accommodate books standing in a row. She covered my concrete floor with a fluffy play-friendly rug. Because of my handy location I am an obvious catch-all. When the doorbell rings…my door opens and toys get thrown into me at a pace that would rival a major league pitch. That makes sense. It is good to have a place to hide things temporarily.
Every once in awhile my perky hostess takes an afternoon to sort me out. She pulls all the toys out into the entry. Sorts them by shape, color and age suitability. She sends 80% of my contents to who knows elsewhere and then packs me naively back with the wicker baskets and Brother P-touch labels into pristine condition.
This girl. She isn’t just a half-full kind of person. She is a “it really looks like it might be 3/4 full and I am going to sip slowly and enjoy it, but I am sure there is more” kind of person. What a load of optimistic crap.
Let us have a reality check. THREE BOYS. MILLIONS OF TOYS. Three boys whose millions of toys have millions of pieces. Millions of pieces, Oh the joy! Boys. Toys. Pieces. Joy!
So I ask what is the point of the toy sort? Why does she waste her time? She doesn’t know my nature. I live on chaos. Messy is my middle name…Holly’s MESSY Toy closet (I guess Messy is my first name). Whatever. What do I care. I am a mess. I can take a pristine toy sort and turn it into toy hell in less then 15 minutes. Don’t think I can’t. Don’t underestimate me. Let me prove it:
Boys. Toys. Pieces. JOY!
Oh, the sight of me just makes me happy. But what tickles me even more is the horrified gasp and naughty word muttering that happens every time Holly opens the door. Now that is worth my existence. Don’t pity me. I am in a good place.
Lovingly,
Holly’s messy toy closet of the devil
P.S. Where are Maisy’s pants?
I second Suzie in Manhattan… We have no closets… and we have no basement, no attic… Not even a balcony or porch… Everything we own is shoved into these 105 square meters… STACKED up as high as I can make them go. A few weeks ago a bag tossed on top of a bin slid down and I had Melissa and Dough wooden puzzle pieces, hammers and beads crash upon my head and poor unsuspecting feet. I uttered quite a few words your closet would have enjoyed hearing! I seriously need to go through this place and DONATE, DONATE, DONATE… I just know, though, that as soon as I’d get rid of all outgrown toys, I’d unintentionally get pregnant. I think of my clutter as “Murphy’s Law” birth control–and with this much stuff, where on earth would we put another kid, anyway 🙂 ??!!
I always knew that evil toy closet was out to get me!
I gave up.
My eleven yr old now has the privilege of cleaning and sorting the toy closet. I hear him saying things he must have learned from the previous closet organizer, whoever she was. Tsk tsk.
Toy closets, kids rooms, they are the same. Close the door, keep walking and take deep breaths because they always revert to their natural state of chaos, withing seconds of closing the door.
Ah yes dreaded closets only in Manhattan we have no closets so like Slow Panic it is sadly our whole apartment. Sniff
that is like a picture of my entire house. watch where you step.
This is too funny. I would love t live in your brain.
Dear Messy Toy Closet,
I assume being in Texas, the house in which you resides does not have a basement. Be thankful. In a house with a basement like ours, the naive female co-owner can shut the door and not notice your horrific presence for days on end until the trail from your door begins to creep to the bottom of the stairs and she spies the head of a power ranger taunting her each time she closes the door.
KEEP BELIEVING
Darn closests they are evil just evil!
HA HA .. gld to see someone elses toy closet looks like mine… and why do we spend all that time sorting and it just looks the same way a week later???