Wasted Toys

Once upon a time, when Davy was a babe, she had approximately six toys and a handful of books. Most fit nicely in a small fabric box.

Even then she was sending us non verbal signals that she preferred household objects to childish frivolities.

At six months old, she enjoyed straws and tissues immensely. As time passed she grew incredibly fond of chomping on shoes or the occasional hanger.

Fast forward a year or so and we have a gazillion toys. Every time I turn around they creep out of hiding and fill up our little house. I have absolutely no idea how this is happening because our children hardly play with them.

Following in her big sissy's footsteps, Gianna also loves things that are not toys. There is a bit of a catch with Gianna though. She has a special love anything that in her little eyes vaguely resembles a nipple.

There's a cabinet in the kitchen with all things heinous and plastic that remains unlocked for small people to access it. When little Gianna does, she doesn't mess around and goes straight for her love: a plastic onion storage container. The color is almost right and she can't resist. One day I was out for a bit and Daddy could not figure out why she had taken a special liking to her newfound toy.

I think I have another invention idea...

Also she is a sucker (pardon the pun) for cabinet knobs. She loves to walk over to them and try her luck for maternal milk. Obviously she fails every time.

On a few occasions away from home she has found the top to plastic pans that looks like something it is not.

See green pan top at the upper left.

Oh little Gianna.

Then there is sweet Davy. And by sweet I mean crazy.

I think she wakes up every morning with one goal: Destroy every room in the house as quickly and effectively as possible. Some days she just barely triumphs after a long and brutal battle. Some days its a draw. And some days I throw in the white flag before it's even begun.

Her tactics are ruthless. Her stamina is unmatched. And her feisty-ness is definitely from her mom dad.

This past week I have been keeping our kitchen counter tops cleared for the most part which has been a struggle because we have about 6 square feet of countertop space not even sufficient for a toddler size kitchen.  I accidentally left a marker on one of the countertops before I went to bed one night. I remember making a serious mental note to put that thing up high. first. thing. tomorrow. morning. This wasn't just any marker. It was a marker for permanently writing on glass.

In case you couldn't have guessed it yourself, Davy sensed this out-of-place marker as soon as her little eyes opened.  She ran into the kitchen first thing in the morning before anyone else even thought about getting out of bed. She pulled a chair up to the counter. Found the marker. Found a glass. Wrote on it. I heard some commotion in the kitchen and rescued the poor tattooed juice glass. I threw away the marker and kept the glass. Maybe I could call it modern art by a two year old and sell it on ebay.


She has this habit of running to the kitchen in the morning to take hostage whatever she can before I sprint in to intercept. Most mornings it's my silverware. All of it. G-o-n-e. Lost in Davyland. A place where simple forks and spoons become princes and princesses with babies and horses. They prance around their kitchen table of a castle and sing their baby spoons to sleep. This seriously makes me crazy. Some mornings she can't even make time to eat because she is too busy feeding spoon babies.

Then there was a tennis racket she found in the basement. It became a her love baby at first site. She demanded I put a diaper on it after it woke up from a nap in her bed covered with pink blankets. It's hard to love a tennis racket baby when you have spent on your love on two crazy girls.

It's like the part of the Toy Story trilogy that makes people cry over here every single day.  The only difference is that our lonely toys are jealous of the kitchen utensils.