On my old blog, I once referred to camping as “Yelling At Kids in Nature(TM).”
Little has changed. There’s still lots of yelling. Mostly THEM yelling while we growl at them to be quiet, a reaction we’re cured of three days in, when we realize that our neighbours are hearing impaired and/or tolerant of loud children and/or both.
One thing that has definitely changed is my impulse to want to catalog and archive everything. This time, there were whole entire days where I didn’t take even a single photo.
Which means that rather than a week’s worth of posts that replay my vacation in near-real time, you get a bunch of random lists so short and scattered you’d think I wrote them on the inside of a dew-dampened Kleenex box.
It’s not one that’s unique, or even notable, really, except for the fact that it’s rapidly reaching crisis proportions and action – some kind of definitive, decisive, headline-worthy action – was called for.
The situation is that we’re drowning in toys. Duplo, Lego, puzzles, dolls, games, train sets, random feathers and half a magnetic alphabet. You get the idea.
I decided yesterday that enough was enough. I took the kids out to a $3.99 a plate* dinner and informed them that sometime in the next few weeks, new rules would be coming down that would govern the in- and outflow of toys.
A week or so ago, I found out about an event — a fundraiser — for my political party of choice. I saw the invitation and decided quickly that it wasn’t for me. Last night, the rest of Twitter saw the promotional piece and promptly asploded. Here’s the item in question: