My house isn't a home, it's a toy box

I have just spent the last half hour looking up toy boxes and children’s storage having come home with:

- a shape sorting car

- a construction trio

- a harmonica

- a set of musical bells (my fault)

- a xylophone

- one teddy bear (which tells a story – don’t ask)

- two monkeys (not including Percy or Alby)

- a pull dog (my fault again)

- four books

- an ostrich (thank you Uncle Eddie)

- a bouncy rabbit

- three jigsaw puzzles

- one swing

- a train

- a monster truck

plus two jackets, a jumper, a shirt, a policeman top, socks, wellies (which are awesome), a waterproof snowsuit and some new pyjamas. 

Christmas has been kind to Alby.  Sadly, it has not been so kind to my attempts at unpacking.  Percy’s bed is like a little “dog island” amongst stacking cups, bricks, cars and musical instruments. 

My parents are visiting in three days, work starts in four days and Mark comes home in 22 days (woop woop).  I need storage.  I need to rethink things.  I need my house to look like a home and not TVs Fun House after the children have ransacked it.