Thursday, 26 February 2015

The futility of parenthood...

So yesterday was interesting.

My children 'helped me' tidy their bedroom by putting every toy and item of clothing into my son's cot. They emptied every drawer, cleared every shelf and every nook into my son's cot.

Unfortunately I had spent some time sorting all their toys whilst daddy took them on a trip out. I painstakingly put together the squillion tiny Sylvanian Family bits into their doll's house, I folded every t-shirt and trouser, arranged every dolly and teddy on the shelf. I sorted people into one drawer, animals into another and dinosaurs in their own drawer. I even separated little cars and big cars into baskets.

Starting the day full of bright imaginings of us all playing with neatly arranged farm sets and small world houses I entered the bedroom and found a cot heaving with all their possessions rammed into it. Seeing their delighted faces, hearing their little voices talk proudly about all the things they had found I couldn't help but say 'well done!' (through slightly gritted teeth) and give them cuddles.

Whilst they drank their victory hot chocolate and watched 'Rapunzel' with daddy I spent the next twu hours putting everything back.

Is this the definition of futility for us parents?

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