The Stitch

As many of you know I religiously read the blog Dooce. I wear a tee-shirt with the DOOCE logo plastered across my curve-challenged chest. I've sent links to family and friends, urging them to read her posts. Sometimes her posts are so funny I pee a little from laughing too hard, and I can relate to all of her parenting stories, including the ones that involve the furry 'kids.'

Recently she posted some lovely photos of little plastic animals from her daughter's toy box. (she's a talented photographer, in addition to all of the other mad skillz she possesses). The photos are works of art, without a doubt, and she's planning to sell them as prints. Here are a few examples:
Mr. and Mrs. Giraffe
Mr. and Mrs. Panda Bear
Mr. and Mrs. Zebra

People, color me fuschia with envy. I have a hard enough time keeping the toys in this house clean. Most of them are covered with some sort of sticky, pink substance - or worse. It's impossible to keep sets of toys together, much less a whole ark of animals. Last week I pulled 9 Polly Pocket shoes from a variety of absurd locations. I'm absolutely certain that Polly Pocket shoes do NOT belong in the toaster OR at the bottom of Adam's sippy cup OR wound up, hidden in a roll of toilet paper.

But the thing that amazes me most about these pictures is the fact that our dear Dooce has not one, but two canine chew factories. And one of them is the same flavor as our special guy, Mr. Skye McTurdypants. Yet, here she has clean, matching, never-been-chewed toys in her house.

Here at The House of Piper, we don't roll that way, but oh, how I wish we did. This. THIS is what all of the cute little animals in our house look like:
Tragic Victim

And when I say ALL the cute little animals in our house, I am referring to all the cute little animals that aren't stuck to the wall from that unidentifiable, sticky pink residue, or shoved in the toes of my winter boots. . .

Where I won't find them again until next year. . .

When I hastily shove my foot in them while trying to usher Skye out the door because he is exploding poop from eating too many plastic toys. . .

That, my friends, is the real, no bullshit, anti-Disney Circle of Life.