In the Yard

Right after we got married, before we had any kidlets, Dr. Peds and I used to go for walks together sometimes, and we’d pass houses where the entire yard would be littered with toys at all times of the day.  Plastic toys of all sorts would be randomly strewn about in every little nook and cranny.

We said to ourselves, “Our yard will not be like that when we have kids.  We will see to it that they pick up their toys at the end of the day.”

I don’t know what we were thinking, actually, because neither one of us is a neat and tidy person ourselves.  Did we expect our progeny to have a miraculous bent for  cleanliness?

Now I live in a house with toy-strewn yard.  It’s not for lack of trying on our part as parents.  We do try to have them pick up at the end of the day whenever we can,  but our inconsistency at the witching hour, coupled with the fact that our children just can’t seem to actually see the toys they’ve strewn about in the yard, means that even when they insist that they’ve put every single pay object away, the yard  . . . is still strewn with random toys and other objects that aren’t even supposed to be outside in the first place.

Our house is not neat, and neither is our yard.  And the best thing to do at this point is to just generally embrace the mayhem and give thanks for the fun that was had outdoors while the daylight lasted.