The Closet

We have a closet in our downstairs bedroom.  It's rather large and a good catchall for the odds and ends around the house with no other place to go.  The closet also houses assorted toys.  Toys that are too young for the kids and need to be garage-saled next spring, like the millions of assorted baby rattles and squeaking stuffed animals.  Toys that are too old for the kids, like the set of golf clubs that every time we think Aric might be old enough to finally play with them he takes a swing at someone's head.  The closet also holds toys that drive Mommy nuts, like the penguin with the hard plastic bottom that they pick up and throw repeatedly onto the tile floor.

This doll high chair has been relegated to the closet for now:

At first Kellyn wouldn't let me pull her out of it, she wasn't ready to be released from her plastic prison.  When she finally decided she was done it took me a good five minutes and removing her diaper to wiggle her chubby little legs out of the high chair.

I put it in the closet.  I know my daughter and she will climb into that thing the next chance she gets.  Maybe when she's older, more mature and too big to climb back in we'll pull it out and let her play with it again.  Right now, though, I fear she'll climb in again and be permanently stuck growing up in a high chair.  Which leads to a valid concern of the difficulty of someday being able to find a man who is able to look past the pink plastic and see Kellyn's true beauty.