*softly spoken celeb voice* Please donate whatever space you can. Anything to help free up some room… *even quieter whisper*… Thank you.

Ok. The playroom. In a way similar to how I need to get rid of several pounds/ stone/ whatev’s of holiday weight, the playroom needs to get rid of several Argos stores worth of toys. I need to crack some serious duck eggs to make a serious omelette here. It is ridiculous and actually, pretty obscene with the amount of toys the boys have. Don’t think me ungrateful – we are very lucky to have such generous people wanting to give to the boys, but…it is a lot. And we live in a modest semi.

And I know by even saying the word “playroom” I look like a twat.


It was frankly, terrifying with what I was faced with. The entire weekend had been blacked out on the callender – PLAYROOM STORAGE. I was ripping off the mother of all plasters sorting that playroom. I needed Nick Knowles. But that is beside the point. (ho ho ho). We had already had a sucky start to the weekend as we did not wake up on Saturday morning to find out we had won the euromillions lotto (throws hands to the sky and shouts WHY GOD WHY!). So, we thought we would just deal with what we had which meant, reading in between the lines… finding out what hell was. If you want to know what hell is then travel along the m40 until it becomes the a40. Turn on to the a406 and keep going until you reach Ikea. It is there. I felt physically drained and achey when we left the store. I was laughing hysterically (true story) at Alex dancing in the trolley and it didn’t deserve that kind of reaction. He is no Russell Grant shooting out of a canon.

I woke early the following Sunday morning, energised and joyous with the music of the birds. No, wait, I was awoken early by Alex and suffered the birds. I knew what we had to do. I went downstairs and tried to drag up some enthusiasm and threw myself at the playroom. I announced; Morning Peppa. Morning Thomas. Morning Duplo bricks. I am your worst nightmare. Let battle commence. I took a big gulp of my tea and entered the playroom…inside I was shaking with fear.

Large objects were placed in themed boxes. I dusted off my hands…I made a lot of noise…Hmmm. I was hoping by making excessive clatter I would wake other Smiths and therefore provide reinforcement. I put my still dusty hands on my hips. There was no back up coming. It was just me and Alex. And I didn’t really need his “help”. His emptying the hoover really was a real low light. His eating the dust from the hoover made me realize I needed to get off facebook and stop updating people on what was going on and focus on actually stopping him from eating the dust.

Eventually back up did turn up. But he got distracted by finding old toys and wearing them. And putting children on top of bookshelves to photo and horrify our mothers with.


By the middle of the day I must have been tired as I read channel fives evening film as “TWAT”. (it was SWAT) in the TV guide. After being at it for 5 hours (snigger) Smudge and I cracked open the beers. Midday. Still in our pjs and with the kids running round in their pj’s and bribery  twiglet stains on their faces. We are a social services dream.

I was slacking behind by now. I just didn’t care anymore. I kept telling myself  “A job worth doing is worth doing well, Hannah!”. But my friend Janice emailed me telling me  “a job worth doing is worth doing well doesn’t apply when you have a 3 yr old and a 1 yr old under your feet. A job done adequately, providing the cupboard doors are shut, is a job well done”. She should get T shirts made.

But we did it.

And after…

But of course no one is allowed in this room now. The boxes are empty and these children are actors. You should see the state of the lounge.

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