When the weekend came around I suggested that the hubby take the girls to see his parents to give me time to sort through everything; he is as bad as they are, I have a loft full of items that we will ‘need’ one day. With the house empty I began the dreaded task; dreaded because nothing ever turns out to be where I think it is. The main toy will probably be in one room and the accessories in another. I had three piles, one to donate to the charity shops/hospital, one to bin and one to keep. Half an hour in and it looked like a nuclear bomb had gone off in the living room, I was hot and bothered and wondering why I had ever started. I had sat on countless parts and pieces and the accessories that I knew I had put at reach had gone; or rather I hadn’t put them where I thought I had. The girls were back, nanny and granddad had to go out; lack of planning turned out to be my downfall.
In for a penny in for a pound as the saying goes, I will continue I kept chanting in my head.
“mum that’s my favourite toy what are you doing with it” I explained about the poorly children needing toys only to be met with “but what if we get poorly we might need it” I was loosing the battle and it had only just began, I could feel my partners eyes burning into the back of my head; the fact that the toy in question hadn’t been played with probably since new year didn’t seem to come into the bad mummy moment I was apparently having. “oh look, mum you found my racing car, I’ve been looking for that for ages I love this toy” it was news to me, I didn’t think it was lost; how could I not know it had been lost all the time it had been sitting in the toy box missing a wheel? I tried to explain it was broken and couldn’t be played with anymore but “daddy will fix it.”
I thought I had finished in the living room so with a smile on my face I went off to the kitchen to get the bags and heard an almighty crash shortly followed by... “gggrrrrrrhhhhhhhhhh I’m a shark”
I was standing in the door holding my bags just looking at the shark that had conveniently found itself thrashing around in the middle of my lovely neat piles of toys. I had just spent hours sorting through the toys and everyone around me was laughing and I just stood there with my mouth wide open debating an emotional breakdown.
I quit and I admit my failure with a smile on my face, my two year old daughter, sorry shark had beat me, the next time I attempt the living room toys I will pre arrange a visit when nanny and granddad have no plans. I’m also sure my partner winked at our little shark after the crash; better luck next time mummy.
I escaped the bomb site and headed upstairs closing the stair gates behind me. The toys upstairs were a doddle in comparison but I think that had more to do with the fact I had no interruptions, Countless jigsaws with missing pieces, train tracks with missing tracks and a Barbie who was somehow missing her arm were just a few of my finds. When I thought nothing could surprise me anymore I asked my daughter if she knew where barbie's arm was and I was informed that Barbie had wanted to be like the women on CBebbies with one arm because the lady off the telly wanted someone else to be like her. I normally would have told her off for deliberately breaking a toy but her heart was in the right place, well sort of. I did explain that she shouldn’t have just ripped Barbie’s arm off and how lucky she is to have so many toys but I’m not sure I made my point very clearly, maybe it was the suprise of her answer.
I bagged the toys up and hid them in the spare room, I wasn’t going to risk taking them downstairs when the girls were awake just in case of another unexpected shark attack or another ‘my favourite toy’ moment.
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