Sighing resignedly, I walked up to my husband. "I just found a chick in your closet. What do you have to say?"
"I was hoping you wouldn't notice." [snicker]
Tiny wind-up chick, you offend me, sir. I wonder sometimes if I am the only parent out there who starts to feel like an angry troll when encountering kid toys in my room. I don't mind as much when my stuff is appropriated/borrowed/outright stolen by my kids. It is mildly annoying, but not really a big deal to me. It's just stuff.
But don't be putting your stuff in my space. It makes me NUTS. I'm tripping over toy phones, tractors, books, art supplies, you name it. One thing I care deeply about is my personal space. When no one is looking, I literally throw the toys out into the hall, into their rooms. I'm not talking about a gentle toss; I'm looking to impress the major league scouts. The eight year old in me does a little troll stomp, then I move on.
I know, I know, some day I'll miss this, this and all the myriad messes and dramas that come with small kids, but right now? You know in The Usual Suspects, toward the end of the movie, when Kevin Spacey turns back and says in a broken pitiful voice "F@#king cops"?
F@#king toys.
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