Just Don’t Buy It?

Toys are so overrated. And expensive. And messy!

The kids play with them for about five hours less than the time they play with the box it came in. Our stomachs growl in hunger for the lunch we skipped to pay for that toy (and its box). Then, to add insult to injury, we find the toy and its brothers everywhere.


And so, I have concluded that we need to no longer fund this operation. My husband decided that long ago, and continually reminds me of this resolve every time he has to walk in the house.

I’ll hear his voice from the boys’ rooms: Who left all these Legos on the floor! We need to put these all away till they learn to clean up!

Then there was the time of The Battle of the Art Cupboard. I’d hear everything from, Who painted the floor? to Who didn’t clean up after his papier-mâché? to Why is there confetti all over?

I tried. Sort-of. I limited birthdays and Christmases to number and cost. I encouraged thrift and order. I devoted about a decade to teaching (yelling at) our miniature houseguests the meaning of “Clean up.” I cleaned on my own; again and again and again.


In frustration, I moved most of the mess out of general sight and set up a toy room in our unfinished basement.

As my husband and I snuggled in to immediately fall asleep all romantic-like, he said, We need to keep the kids’ toys in their closets. The basement is getting too messy.

Photo Credits:
Markus Spiske
Image by mohamed Hassan from Pixabay

Happiness at Home

I’ve read that finding happiness in life can be a matter of lowering expectations.

I haven’t got much lower I can go with that, so has anyone else got any ideas?

Writing Gaps

A short time ago, the plumber needed to make a house call. Given that our domicile is only five years old, we’ve had (in my opinion) an inordinately large number of maintenance appointments. -And, none of the children has flushed worse than wet wipes (knock on wood).


Up until this visit, I’d had the house really clean if the plumber was coming. I knew that he would be able to see our least-cleaned areas: the master bedroom (the bathroom’s attached), and THE BASEMENT (where the plumbing-type stuff sleeps). But, we hadn’t had time to tidy up as usual for this occasion, because the problem was no hot water and that meant there were dishes all over and stinky children and I hadn’t showered so was in my excusable exercise clothes and everyone was running all over and I was a bit stressed about the whole situation.

The poor guy walked into the house after the children fought over opening the door, and undoubtedly saw all this. “I’m sorry, we …” I began.

I mentally heard myself finishing that sentence with the usual excuses. “-didn’t have time to clean.” “-haven’t washed since the hot water went out. Thank goodness you’re here!” and “-are fasting from personal hygiene for Lent.”

Instead, I said, “I’m sorry, we live here.”

(No, not, “I’m sorry we live here.” There was a pause.)


And so, I offer the same excuse for frequency of writing. I always have a goal of publishing posts in a somewhat-orderly fashion. At my main site, this is a daily routine until I hit a year. Over here, however, I was going to save them for when I felt snarky enough to pop something off.

Unfortunately, visitors, I forgot about a teensy little event called Summer Break.

Despite my bestish efforts, attempts to write anything with the children awake has been disastrous. They do that whole bother me every five two one minutes thing. I snap at the cute interrupter, only to feel like the worst, psychologically-damaging parent for telling them my writing is more important than them sharing the plot of Captain Underpants with me (again), so I apologize and listen to their story, then I pull a few children apart from MMA-type events ….and it’s bedtime.

I may have just summarized the life of a stay at home parent.

So, I’m sorry for not writing about motherhood. I’ve been mothering.

I’ll squeeze in a few late-night postings here and there, but you just might have to wait till Free Daycare (aka school) begins again ’round September. It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year.

unsplash-logoChris Leggat
unsplash-logoSteve Johnson