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?
Holy moly…is this what I have to look forward to?!!!
Is it bad that I tell my kids they aren’t allowed to play with their toys when I’ve done mass organizing?
Wow. That makes me want to makes some tea, shut that door, and pretent it’s not there.
You are quite funny! I found you over at Tootsie’s and I just wanted to stop by and say hi. You can do the same if you feel so inclined.
too funny!
Your closet looks like three of our rooms 😉
Thanks for adding me to your box!
One of the unsung joys of the teenage years. Very few toys (altough you do have very expensive surfboards, mountain bikes, and snowboards; but still, no small pieces).
Holly,
No worries on your Vintage Thirty comment because you did not even remotely offend me. AT. ALL. I get your point in LOTS of ways. I do not ever use Brian’s parking placard without him, but I see lots who do. So sad. Even when we do use it, sometimes I feel so bad about it, but not as much when it is brutally cold outside. I think when the weather gets nicer (IF EVER) I will encourage him not to use it. I can’t really comprehend using it in nice weather for situations like – going to a mall or a carnival with the kids when we are getting ready to walk a bunch anyway. I think I push him too much and too hard, though. I don’t know how he feels, but I do know that he often tells me he needs to sit….
Personally, I was intrigued to learn your B.C. life was in P.T.
Well, off to pack the car for our wild, crazy, exciting, exotic Iowa and Nebraska adventure.
KEEP BELIEVING
I’d say that the fact that Maisy’s pants are off? Not a good sign. Could explain how the toys seem to reproduce at such an alarming rate.
I suggest you pretend you’re going to move, pack most of the toys into Rubbermaid containers, and wait for the eventual day when your kids forget about most of them.
Of course, then, without toys, you’ll have to entertain your kids. So this could come back to bite you.
When did you sneak into my house and take a picture of my living room?
your last 3 posts have made me giggle. time to institute a ‘put it away’ song and get them to pitch in putting stuff away. also time to get closable totes and put that junk all away for a couple of weeks, then take turns with what was hidden for 2 weeks and hide the stuff that was still in the closet. they appreciate it so much more when they dont get it all at once. its overwhelming.
ps any ideas on how to keep in laws or parents from buying too many toys? set up a savings account or suggest clothes? umm what do you do? or do you just give in?