Aiding The Enemy

So, our first Christmas with our daughter in our lives has come to end. There is a trail of dead pine needles running through my living room carpet, where I carried a dead piece of nature through my house. Garland and strands of lights are tucked away in their boxes, to be opened and displayed again in eleven months. Christmas was great, but every last remnant of the holidays is now packed away until next year.

That is, except for the pile of toys that has taken over half of my living room.

In an older blog post, I had written about how my daughter's toys had already started to wage a war for real estate in my house, cars, and various other places (See "The Toys Are Taking Over"), but I was not nearly prepared for the second wave of reinforcements to commence their attack on the free spaces of my life, as they have since Christmas.

Granted, some of the damage was self-inflicted since many of the toys were purchased by my wife and I, but some of the worst invaders of space (or would they be "space invaders"?) were innocent gifts from grandparents or other loved ones.

For example, my wife's parents, who have said that they would like to get my daughter a real pony on more than one occasion (despite the lack of stables, much less grass, at our house), got my daughter a "test pony" in the form of a three-foot tall stuffed pony that whinnies and makes trotting noises, for her to "ride" on.

My daughter, although unable to walk on her own yet, absolutely loves sitting on the pony and playing with it's mane, and lights up every time we press it's ear to hear the trotting noises.

The down side: My living room has become a boarding area for my daughter's new equine friend.

The up side: The pony is actually the only non-rainbow colored toy in the living room, and actually matches our furniture better. (That's right, I decorate my house with toys.)

Although my living room now looks like a test center for Fisher Price, seeing my daughter light up on Christmas as she tore through wrapping paper and ribbon was remuneration enough for aiding the enemy in the war for carpet space that has been waged by Elmo, pony, and friends.

Luckily, my daughter actually has a good-sized closet, for a nine-month old, and my wife and I will be able to take a couple prisoners-of-war to store on the top shelf of her closet, to be rotated out as she gets bored with whatever toy is currently attacking the living room.

Next year, I am asking Santa for a play room!