I've succomb to the out-of-controllness that is Conner's room as of yesterday. It was crazy. We have more parts to random toys, gadets, household items and unexplainables than a white trash yard sale. So... I decided to take action and proclaim war on his little baby oasis.
He wasn't thrilled.
I started by sorting through his knick-knacks... anything smaller than my hand went into a brown woven basket. Surely, I thought, this would be his least favorite thing and I could just hide it somewhere until I found the nerve to throw it out.
Then came moving his toy box. All 93 pounds of me hauled it right across the hallway and into the guest room/ soon-to-be playroom. Wow. That broke a sweat.
I emptied it out knowing full well the task at hand. Conner has recently been in his own little war of sorts, in which he always looses. The poor little guy goes wandering into his room and over to his 3 foot deep wooden toy box, only to notice that it is 1/3 full and most of the toys (if not all) are out of reach. So his solution? Lean over so far that he can barely touch a toy, then get stuck in the "V" position, upside down, head first into the toy bin and feet off the ground.
I'm sure that's great for his rib cage.
Sadly, his cries are muffled by the wooden box and it usually takes me a minute to get to him and fish him out. Please don't call DHR.
Alas, I've decided to place several folded old sheets and towels into the bottom of his toy bin until he decides to gain a few inches. Good luck with that one kid.
Now, all toys are in reach. But that's not his new interest, of course.
I put together his train track, train and all... but he hasn't bothered with it yet to realize that the time he decided to throw it into a bath tub full of H2O meant it is no longer operational.
His favorite pretend vaccum, with real vaccum noises, sits beside the toy box accompanied by his poppling pusher and a few little tykes cars.
Then, as I bask in the glory of a partially fulfilled task... I note that the basket of crap is gone.
Conner has removed himself and taken over the living room. The basket lies in the hallway, empty.
I follow the trails of old bath toys, playthings from kid's meals, a leggo or two, the b.s. his grandparents give him (crap from CVS or Winn-Dixie that they have at the counter... they think its cute... I find it to take up a nice little area in my weekly trash). I pass by a plethora of old cell phones, dating back to his newborn days. There's my nokia, michael's 1st.. 2nd.. and 3rd motorola replacements, one Razr (stupid for me to have even purchased it), an ebay phone that was awesome seeing as we didn't have to fork over the cash for one through Cingular (literally a life saver), an LG (my mom gave him that one), and two fake ones he never showed interest in.
He's made it all the way into the kitchen with this trail-o-poo-toys and found the parts to a refrigerator game he once loved. And he is as happy as a pig in mud playing in the floor by the dishwasher.
All my work paid off. Just hope one day he notices I moved his stuff.
Obviously, he has a thing for items that don't normally qualify as toys....