Shhh, Everyone is Sleeping

My living room is boobytrapped. It's late and I'm trying to pick up toys in stealth mode, but Handy Manny's tools are singing and trying to teach me Spanish. Startled, I step on a puzzle piece with a tiny plastic handle and curse the world through clenched teeth and crossed eyes. I reach for the toy that perversely celebrates mining and am greeted by beeps, alarms, and explosions. Light reaches the transportation puzzle and myriad motorcycles and automobiles fill the dead space with tinny sounds of revving engines. The damn duck pool gets stepped on and the mechanical current begins to swirl. The overturned robot beeps for aid like a stranded turtle. Rocket, the vehicle powered by the patted thighs of Little Einsteins - and hordes of toddlers on couches around the world - begs for a mission, even though it's missing a front wheel and any hope of following directions. Bert complains from his sidecar about Ernie's motorcycle driving skills. Chickens, pigs, cows, and horses berate me from the farm. Mary tells me about her little lamb, and the ambulance siren screams as the wheels spin fruitlessly in the air. The toy dog yips a pathetic bark as I step on its ridiculous face. With the lights off, an unholy alliance of Cars movie characters and miniature X-Men ambush my bare feet with admantium claws, clinched, painted fists, and exaggerated rear spoilers. Mission Impossible characters couldn't sneak through this room. Every night the traps have moved, but they're there, waiting....