on why we will never live in the land of nod. sigh.

you've heard of the land of nod, right? imagine if pottery barn and williams-sonoma mated into little baby neat and tidy gingham chairs. matching adorable alphabet rugs. squeaky clean and organized kid shelves with books in alphabetical order. transitioning seamlessly from robots and outer space to butterflies and peonies. sigh. sighsighsigh. curses. i hate you land of nod. hate. you. but i really love your organization in your fantasy world of make believe. where there are no children. actually there are no adults either. who are you kidding? no one can keep a room that neat. just enough adults and stagers to produce a picture beyond perfect fake playroom where it looks like mr. clean magic erased from top to bottom in one fell swoop.

but i can't get over it.

i have the "rainbow connection" track running in my head (kermit's version. obvi.) while i imagine a land where all the baby doll supplies stay in the baby doll supplies area (p.s. why am i not done with diapers? i'm still diapering. dolls.). all the trucks and machines stay parked on the trucks and machines shelves. it's always a tea party. never missing a spoon or saucer. (and said missing spoon or saucer never ends up in, let's say, mommy's laundry in mommy's closet. random.). a land where train tracks are for enabling trains t0 happily choo-choo along their way. never taken apart. over. and over. and over. so that mommy has to further herniate her disc (L4/L5, not that you wanted to know) spending hours hunched over to produce the most perfect train track configuration. ever. a land where art supplies are at the ready at all times. non-washables abound! spray paint! sharpie markers! and never a stray mark to be found on a table. or a wall. or a white linen curtain, for example. (my fault for doing white, right?).

enter hypocrisy. i don't want those kids in the land of nod catalog. fake little robot kids. who put their stuff away immediately after using it. "i think i am done with the yellow dump truck for the moment. let me return the yellow dump truck immediately to it's yellow dump truck space in the truck parking garage i call shelves. thank you dump truck. it was a fun 30 seconds. i'll take you out for a run again, but only after i attempt to build something with my tools and then return all tools to my neatly organized workbench." really. reeeeeally. come on. i want three-year-olds. footloose and fancifull, fancifree three-year-olds. because really, they can get away with this s now. i am now envisioning a blog post in 2022 when i'm complaining about sweaty sweat socks that are found trickled all over the floor in various rooms of our house and half-eaten hot dogs found stuffed in the cushions of the couch. please no.

so here's to you, land of nod. i am currently living in the land of no. and i am trying to embrace it. (however, if you would like to compensate me for saying your name 6 times on my blog, a blog that coincidentally is read by 6 people, i won't turn it down. it should be, though, for at least $36,832 [roughly] since that's how much it would cost to turn my land of no into the land of nod [7!]).

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my land of nod. (took 20 minutes to complete).

my land of no. (took 20 seconds to complete).