Thought of the Day

Sometimes I wonder how many hours of my life have been spent searching for a missing toy in this house. I mean, out of the seemingly endless amount of trains, toy animals, balls, and general CRAP we have strewn throughout various containers it always amazes me that the one thing Truman wants is the one mysterious toy that hides from me. And mocks me. And makes me want to pack up every single toy in this house and donate it all to Goodwill. For real. A needle in a haystack, if you will. And I'd like to consider my haystack fairly organized and 'controlled', but that darn needle keeps slipping into the depths of darkness.

Let me explain: my kids aren't (totally) spoiled rotten or anything, but they do have the typical middle-class American home that includes a ridiculous amount of kid paraphernalia. Ridiculous. We have boxes and bins that are supposed to conceal said toys. We have a freaking playroom that is supposed to house them all, too. But of course, the toys get scattered throughout our home almost always landing directly in the walking path of bare feet (i.e. legos and trains can nearly pierce the skin if you aren't careful, trust me). So yeah, we have a lot of toys despite my bi-annual C.O.T.C episodes (Cleaning Out the Toy Crap).

Tonight Truman could not find his beloved monkey, which is not a toy and is nearly a member of our family. So my heart was not quite as hardened at this point. We had Truman look for monkey by himself, like we always do when he 'loses' something. Because usually he is the one who knows where something is hiding. We don't step in and assist with the toy-hunt until he has truly exhausted most of his options. This usually works and I figured he would find monkey in no time.

However, after Truman, Nate and I searched for monkey for seriously 30 minutes or more I became increasingly irritated. How does one lose a lovey that is practically attached at his hip? We checked garbage cans (Cecelia??), the oven, under pillows, toy boxes, the toilet (Cecelia??), my work bag, etc. Eventually I found the monk-ster, hiding in the deepest, darkest crevasse that is our basement. Whatever. But then? Truman informs me that there is something else missing: a tiny red bouncy ball that he simply must have immediately.

I glanced around the family room, toys strewn about like usual. I peeked under the couch and then tapped out, saying, 'I'm sorry buddy, mommy can't look for anything else tonight. Be happy we found monkey and let's worry about the (blasted) ball tomorrow.' He didn't throw a mega-fit or anything because I think my tirade about how we have too many toys in this house during the monkey-search made him realize that mommy is about to lose it with his stuff.

Obviously, this is a first world problem. We are blessed beyond belief and having too many toys is hardly something to complain about when there are so many without these luxuries. I promise this rant doesn't mean I'm totally delusional and self-centered. But still, maybe I need to up the ante of my bi-annual C.O.T.C. to be monthly or something. I'm sure the kids would not miss half of the stuff I boxed up. I do actually have a few boxes of older toys stored in the attic and planned to 'rotate' out the older stuff for newer stuff but haven't done that since last Christmas. Which, of course, will be another time that will overwhelm me with STUFF. I sent out an email to our family this year suggesting that we all try a new and fun idea this Christmas: one gift a piece, and nothing expensive. Simplify. Enjoy the time together without worrying about buying a bunch of silly gifts. Remember the real meaning of Christmas. Novel idea, I know.

Of course, I think this idea will go over well for us adults but for Truman? The kid is becoming toy-obsessed and would probably hate us for eternity if he 'only' got one toy to open this year. Not really, I'm sure he would live, but I have a feeling we might break the 'one gift only' rule for him. Which only perpetuates the problem with the toy-takover of my home, so it's ironic that I'm whining now. Huh.

Anyway, I wonder if someone could keep track of the amount of time we spend looking for a missing toy. Would it be more or less time than we actually spend playing with that toy? Food for thought. I'm one toy-hunt away from doing a major purge. I'll probably forget about this by tomorrow, but it's nice to consider right now.

So ends my thought of the day on toys and needles in haystacks.