I really wasn’t planning on writing today. I have a whole house to clean up after yesterday’s unexpected snow day. But I feel the need to vent after working in just one room of the house: my daughter’s.
I would give my life for my little 5-year-old princess. She can just make my heart explode every time she pops a little kiss on my cheek.
But.
I’ve declared a war.
On her toys.
Those little, pink, sharp, pink, cute little toys.
After sorting all those little ponies and barbies into their appropriate boxes, I just happened to peek under her princess bed and saw even more little, pink, sharp, pink cute little toys. Since my arm wasn’t long enough I had to use a naked Barbie (and I really don’t understand why they are all naked) as an arm extension to rake all the crap under bed into the middle of her floor. I sorted THEM. I opened her closet. AAARRGGGHHH!!! Little, pink, sharp, pink, cute little toys.
Honestly, I have nightmares that a plastic miniature Care Bear riding on the back of a purple My Little Pony, holding a Disney Princess wand, is chasing the family dog, Kira.
Sigh. I guess it’s a never-ending battle. Would I trade it for a designer house, impeccable floors and automaton children? I wouldn’t even pay you a little, pink, sharp, pink, cute, little toy.
Heck, I’ll probably keep them around after she’s off to college and just throw them on the floor for old times sake.
