Tripping me up every.single.day are these little roadblocks to cleanliness, otherwise known as "sparts" (a combination of "spare parts" ... because, if you've read my diatribe on "clerty," you know that I love making up word hybrids). Otherwise known as "what the hell is this and why are you playing with it?" I'm talking about this kind of thing:
Or this ...
My kids have a ridiculous mountain of toys. Whole, intact toys with all their working parts. So why they want to play with these weird little ... pieces is beyond me. All I know is that I find them all over the place, and if I can't immediately identify where they came from, they go in the trash the minute my kids aren't looking. One less thing to step on/trip over/find stuck to the carpet somehow.
Sometimes Colin will be throwing something away and he'll catch a glimpse of one of these parts that I've put into the trash can. (I usually stuff them way in the back, or stash them under something else, to avoid this - but it doesn't always work.) And then he fishes it out in disbelief, and is all, "How did this get in the trash?" like he's highly offended. As if I had thrown away an entire, working toy ... or the Wii or something equally valuable.
He'd be seriously pissed if he knew how many "sparts" I toss out on an almost-daily basis.