On Tuesday, I was honored to receive another Freshly Pressed nod by my friends at WordPress*. I wish I could be cooler about the whole thing and not even bring it up in a post, but the truth is that every time I get recognition – any recognition – it’s a major thrill for me. I feel like I’ve accomplished something even when my number gets called at the DMV. You may have heard of me. I’m 275.
*For the one or two of you who read my blog because you actually know me and not because I’ve made Internet best friends with you, Freshly Pressed is the blogging equivalent of winning an Oscar that’s been dipped in a Grammy and then sprinkled with little Emmys.
The FP experience plays a pretty substantial part of my day, and since I blog about my days, I can’t really leave it out. I don’t take praise (or criticism, for that matter) lightly, and I’m grateful for all the love I’ve received while writing. The only reason I do it somewhat well at all is because of the encouragement I receive along the way. So my Freshly Pressed is your Freshly Pressed. Kumbaya.
In the FP post, I waxed poetic about the nature of friendship and finding people who you can be yourself around, and I did so with an extended metaphor about early humans and how their societies compare to ours.
Today, an addendum to my musings on cavemen. Do you know what makes them kind of better than me and I’ll bet a whole lot of you guys too? I’ll tell you. They didn’t litter their freaking caves with stupid toddler toys. Here’s what they had:
One piece of clothing (maybe)
One piece of bark to play with and/or burn
I am losing my mind over here. I feel like all I do all day is pick up the various parts of Wee Cee’s toys* and put them away. I feel this way because it is all I do. Every single gadget she owns is a multi-piece toy, and instead of playing with their parts together as they’re intended, she instead places them in the most mindnumbingly nonsensical locations ever. My purse is a great place for puzzle pieces. Those little Fisher Price rings that go around a post belong under the sofa and no place else. My entire collection of underwear goes in the bathtub. Her little foam cutouts of farm animals are placed equidistant from each other around the entire layout of the apartment. It’s totes fun.
*Please note that Cee views every single thing in our home as a toy, so I include a box of plastic disposable spoons, my husband’s briefcase, and everything in the kitchen junk drawer within the “toy” nomenclature.
Before her birthday a few months ago, we took her to Target to peruse the toy section and see what she was drawn to. We selected a barn with a giant chicken on top. Here it is:
The chicken has a giant hole in its head where C can insert four balls that are supposed to be chicks. This thing imparts absolutely no workable skill or concept (chicks, in fact, do not belong in their mother’s head) but since she liked it, we got it for her. OMG worst decision EVAR. Those roly poly balls haunt my dreams because I have become fixated on getting them all together in one place. Futility! My life is such that when I am able to locate all of them and place them inside the chicken’s storage silo, I feel at peace with the world for a moment. Don’t be too jealous.
Then there are the puzzles. Who decided that small children should own puzzles? Life is a puzzle. It’s messy enough as it is. Children under the age of two do not need little pieces of wood and cardboard to teach them about various professions and animals. This is why we have books. I am going to invent a puzzle where all the pieces are somehow tethered to the board so they don’t get lost and they don’t tempt tiny hands to put them in the dishwasher. Anyone want to place an order?
The best part of the whole situation is that we just keep on piling on the crap. On Sunday, I needed to get her out of the house for 30 minutes so B could finish grading, so I took her to the store and purchased three books of stickers, each containing an average of 300 decals apiece. This, my friends, is what we like to refer to as lunacy. There are now Angry Birds all over the front of our oven.
Cavemen didn’t have such trappings. Sure, they got eaten by dinosaurs and floated away in lava. Sometimes they got trapped in ice and then were melted by Pauly Shore and Sean Astin thousands of years later. However, they never gave their kids plastic garbage made in China. They were onto something.