Wednesday, May 03, 2006
GAH! I HATE toys!!!!
My kids have a ton of toys. A TON of them. And not just the nice, wooden, hand-me-down, keepsakes ... the plastic junk. And the worst offenders: the kids' meal toys. The ones that beep and make noise, and shoot things out of mouths, and hang from backpacks. I don't mind the ones that hang from backpacks because those go to school with the Queen. However, I am now being entertained by the Monkey and the Man, playing with those God-forsaken Burger King handheld toys.
But do you know the ONE toy that I abhor most, the coup d'etat in the struggle with positioning themselves in my kids' lives (meaning the inlaws): the Cookie Monster saxophone.
This toy has NO volume control. The volume is set at ear-splitting loud. And it has a speed control, so add that to the true enjoyment of the toy. There is NOTHING quite like listening to Rock Around the Clock at 50,000 different, ADD-inducing speeds. It has now met a demise of which noone speaks.
And guess what? Just about EVERY toy that is on the floor is going to meet the same demise today. There will be screams of horror when the Man and Monkey see me throw these treasures away.
I'm a mom of three peeps ... Queen Bee, The Door Man, and the Chandelier Monkey, and wife to Ace, the Helpful Hardware Man. I created this space to get away from the people known as my inlaws, and because life with three kids and a hubby is all Unexplored Territory.
The nine-year-old who seems to be growing older every minute, has an opinion and a comment for everything, and has a true servant's heart.
The seven-year-old who loves the organization of things, will someday be someone's therapist because of his kind soul, and will more than likely be living with us until he is 40 years old.
The five-year-old with the 13-year-old attitude, who has a dictator's personality, asks you to watch her all the time and say "hold on" to keep your attention, and will someday come home on the back of some dude's motorcycle with 10 tatts and a body piercing or two.
The man of the house, the fixer of things, the winner of prizes, and the only person in his family to escape the South.
A pet peeve
A bone to pick
From now on, Ace gets the duty...
Doritos and Moon Pie
This damn street
Queen Bee, the Brownie
Spiders and bees and ants .... OH MY!