They are everywhere. At all times.
I pick them up.
They sprawl themselves back into every nook and cranny of the house in multiples in a matter of .3 seconds.
They are the bane of my existence.
The other night I was picking them up for the umpteenth time before bed, slinging them into tubs with great fervor and huffing to Husby with great theatrics, "I'll miss these one day! I'll miss these one day!"
He didn't sympathize. He simply laughed.
The Hot Wheels. The Legos. The stuffed animals. The books. The bows & arrows. The swords. The tools. The capes. The masks. The endless variety and supply of balls. The smurfs. The blocks. The guns. The trains. The games. The TOYS!
I'll miss them one day. It doesn't seem possible in the day in and day out moment of this season of life. But I will.
Because as crazy as the toys make me, they also remind me ... of my littles, of their innocence, of the joy that a house with children brings.
Now, someone call and remind me of that tomorrow somewhere around 6pm.