As I locked the pool gate and walked towards the back door, I observed: a football in the flower bed, a plastic sword on the lawn, a few tops of those push-up icies on the walkway. I did pick up those plastic tops - those are a hazard to the babies, who put everything in their mouths. The rest? Not so much.
Spotting my children's playthings generally cause one of two reactions from me: (1) "Ouch/Ack! Tripping hazard!" Or (2) "Awww, so cute." Examples of #1 include Power Ranger figurines coating the living room floor, or popcorn trailing the couch and rug. Examples of #2 include the drum set in my dining room and scraps of paper with freshly-written songs on them and baby toys sprinkled around the porch and living room.
No, I'm not happy when there is food lying around, because that's just, well, EWWWWWWW. And shoes lying around are a pet peeve, too, particularly since I sprained my ankle stepping on one with Baby Logan in my arms (you may remember my slow-motion fall, Logan sailing through the air in stop-time, landing gently (somehow) on his back at the foot of the stairs).
Bot there are so many reasons to rejoice at the football lying in my gladiolas, and at the baby walker sitting on the porch, waiting for small hands to wrap around its handles and push it to explore new corners of their world. After all, they won't be young forever, and neither will I.
Logan is feeding his Yogurt Nibbles to our Pomeranian, Nola. Princess is watching him, giggling. Chad, our black Lab, is licking up some oatmeal at the base of Princess's chair. Why vacuum when you have dogs, and a bottle of Fantastik, to clean up with?
See? It's all good.
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