...include, but are not limited to, my declaration that a room is too messy even for me. I mean, really, that's a pretty high threshold. (Actually, it's not that high a threshold, but those who lived with me up to and including the age of 21 refuse to believe I could have been reformed.) The playroom was beyond a disaster. It was nearly impossible to open the baby gate to get into it, and everyone--adults, preschoolers, crawling infants--would stumble over something two seconds upon entering the room. The many many Ikea storage pieces were jammed with unorganized crap. I felt overwhelmed and vaguely claustrophobic, so this morning I passed the Mom Baton to Husband, who handled both children with aplomb while I organized. I touched every toy in that place (which is a lot) and organized them by type, creating labels for cars, airplanes, blocks, costumes, animals, and, of course, rockets. I threw out many things, including (gasp) some old artwork. Boy was home from school for many months post-kicking-outtage, and made many creations each day. I also stored the ride toys--too small for Boy, too big for Girl--in the sauna.
Sauna? you ask, incredulous. Yes, sauna. Of course we have a sauna. This is Estonia, after all. It's now filled with toys.
At any rate, Boy helped put his toys away before dinner tonight. He very seriously pointed out the labels on each of the bucket-drawer contraptions and informed me where each toy should go. The goal is to get him to do this in the ten minutes before dinner so that we don't start every day in complete chaos. Considering that Girl is now crawling and actively seeking out every choke-able item in a room, this has taken on new urgency.
Speaking of. I tried to get some photos of La Jefe crawling. She kept stopping and starting, and it took a few clicks to figure out why. Five awesome points to the first person who can identify the reason. Pardon any fuzziness, her claw marks on her tummy (self-inflicted), etc.