We have too many toys. We have far too many toys. Our playroom looks like Fisher Price himself threw up all over the place. Our living room – initially intended to be an adult sanctuary, away from the toys in the playroom – looks like a cross between a run-down soft play and a discount Oxfam shop.
Buying presents for the children is horrendous because we have everything. We have literally a toy for every letter of the alphabet. We have animals, books, cars, dolls, eggs (squeaky), frogs, hippos (hungry), inflatable toys, jigsaws, kinetic sand, Lego, magnets, necklaces (dress up), octopuses, puppets, queen costumes, robots, skipping ropes, tea sets, umbrellas, vet kits, walkie talkies, xylophones and zoos.
Now, to be even-handed, I should say that the girls normally share quite nicely and play well together. Just every so often, they decide that their vast wealth of resources isn’t quite enough. So you can imagine exactly how delighted I was yesterday morning to have the pleasure of refereeing an argument between EldestGirl and YoungestGirl over a piece of string.
EldestGirl: That’s my string. It was in my dressing up drawer.
YoungestGirl: MY STRING! I had it first.
EldestGirl: It’s not fair, that’s MY STRING.
Me: EldestGirl, it might be your string, but you haven’t touched it for months, YoungestGirl is playing with it right now.
EldestGirl: I want it! It’s my string.
TheBloke (TM): I will cut you some more string. <He cuts some more string>
EldestGirl: That’s not fair. Her piece is longer.
Me: You can have the long piece. YoungestGirl doesn’t care.
YoungestGirl: <wailing> My striiiiiinng!
Repeat until it is an acceptable hour to make a Long Island Iced Tea (10.30 a.m., in case you’re wondering).
Half an hour later, all string was forgotten. I had the joy of finding a bit of it (which may well have been up YoungestGirl’s nose) in my bed when I retired for the evening. Every day is a joy.