First, I've not posted anything in months. This is no good. I have made no progress on my novel. Take heart, loyal readers! School is about to begin and I have plans. I will be going to my parents' house to write, so that I don't get as distracted.
Now, the picture.
I, like many other parents, loathe the inordinate amount of toys in my home. It's not just the big toys, it's the pieces to the big toys. It's the Barbie clothes, the accessories to the Octolab, the fake food for the play kitchen (which, let's face it, is really only used when Doug crams himself into the oven).
Like any good mother, I turn into a dragon after tripping over these things for the umpteenth time. I yell, curse (under my breath, on a good day), stomp around. I threaten to throw everything out. I call my husband at work and curse at him about all the flinging-flanging toys.
So about a week ago, I had enough. To my credit, I didn't go full dragon. I focused my energy on the broken toys and I filled two garbage bags with broken toys, garbage and other detritus.
But, like any good human, my efforts to de-clutter often hit a snag. The biggest snag for me is perfectionism.
Enter these toys. The one on the left is a puzzle piece Jeremy smuggled out of the Algonquin library three or four years ago. Yes. I have held onto this puzzle piece. I have had all intentions of returning it to the library. I keep finding it and saying to myself, "next time I go to the Algonquin library..."
Yeah. Now it just taunts me. And even worse, I feel guilty for wanting to throw it away. So every time I come across it, I sigh with disappointment at myself and toss the darn thing back in the toy box!! For shame!
The pig is another relic. I think Bekah snuck it into my diaper bag after an open gym at Elite Kids three years ago. Same exact story as the dinosaur.
I have been meaning and meaning to return it, really. We went to an open gym last year (maybe, but probably a year and a half ago). I walked in and cursed under my breath for not having brought it. And yet...I just keep tossing it into the toy box.
The struggle is real! I have wanted to write a dozen different times, but have been stymied by what people might say or think about what I write. I have been afraid of being judged for my opinions and insights. So I have handcuffed myself and thrown away the key. I keep hoping that I will have the desire to go sit in the office by myself and write. Because the desire hasn't hit, I don't write. I know better. I know how to have discipline and I am a bit ashamed of myself.
Here's the thing. I won't be 100% better, that's not realistic. So I'm going to aim for 2% better. From there, it can only go up.
And for the love, I am tossing those flinging-flanging toys.
I'm back, bitches.
