Toys, toys EVERYWHERE and not a spot too clean. That's how I'm feeling these days. Like I'm slowly being engulfed in a quicksand of plastic. So much so that my normally infinitely patient self (ha!), the me who never loses her temper with her always-a-lego-in-hand children, may have at one point in the last week lost said temper with said plastic and said some choice words in the process.
My out-of-body (read: going out of my mind) Not me! confrontation with the steadily multiplying piles of crap, I mean, supply of fun of the 250-pieces or more, lots of assembly required variety came to a crescendo this weekend. It came as I did not tell my four year old for the fifth time to get his sh*# off the stairs before I threw it away. Not me!
"What ship, mom? My ship is already in my room," he replied.
Ughhh. Laugh to myself. Thank God for innocence and forgiveness and moments like these.
"What I meant to say is please sail all these toys like a ship up to your room before I have to throw them away."
Lose my temper? Swear like a sailor straight into the innocent ears of my sweet boys? Get schooled in the moment by a child infinitely wiser than I am? No, not me!