"Wook. Wook at the camwa!"

That's what she said to me when she held me up for a quick photo this afternoon. The next moment, I was dropped back onto the couch to finish my nap. 

It may look like I'm being tossed around and manhandled, but I love her grabby little hands. They snuggle me up in blankets, dress me in outfits and give me baths. And best of all, they pull me close to her every night when she drifts off to sleep.

You're perfect!

Has anyone ever told you that you've got a face for show biz? I'm looking for a few new recruits for my upcoming debut at the Mini Monster Truck Rally.

What does he job entail? Oh, not much. You'll mostly just sit around on stage while I... um... do some cool jumps off of a big ramp.

So, what do you think?

Back the badge.

I'm the law around these parts. We don't see a lot of action out here, just your run-of-the-mill toddler disturbances.

Yesterday, I got called in for an 10-14 (that's a request for an escort detail for you laymen out there). Seems that the suspect's mama was having trouble getting her into bed for a nap. I flashed my badge and offered to take her downtown to the station, but her mama declined to press charges.

I was going to write her a ticket, but her mama seemed to be getting the tantrum under control. So I let her off with a warning. Next time, though, I might not be so lenient.

This is so humiliating.

I can only hope that Mickey doesn't see me like this.

Miss C. thought it would be a good idea to put me down for a nap in the rocker today. Of course, she couldn't just lay me down. She had to swaddle me in this baby blanket, just like her mama wraps up Master W. before nap time.

Problem is, I'm really not tired. And I'd rather not be spotted here, wrapped up like a baby. Maybe I can blame it on Chip and Dale... they're always finding some inventive way to torment me.

Do you think he'd buy it?

342 days down the drain.

The other garbage trucks aren't going to like this. We've almost gone an entire year without an accident and this guy has to go and practically throw himself front of me during my route. Okay, so maybe I was going a little fast after picking up the recycling at the Henderson place. I tried to stop – really, I did – but I just didn't see him in time.

Now we'll never get that safety luncheon.

I can't sleep.

I have no idea how these other guys are asleep right now. The floor is hard, the rug is scratchy and my pajamas are way too big.

I wish I was in my nice soft doll bed right now. I could snuggle up under my kitty quilt and nap all afternoon. Instead, I'm stuck here on the floor between a bunch of bears and a snoring frog.

Oh well.

Is there a Jedi in the house?

Repeat after me, "Darth Vader isn't interested in toys and books. Darth Vader isn't interested in toys and books."

Miss C. got it in her head today that Darth Vader would be dropping by the house. She's been fascinated with him ever since she spotted his ornament hanging from the Christmas tree. This morning, she spotted him on some bedding in a catalog.

"Maybe Darth Vader like some toys?" she asked her mama with that innocent little smile.

"Maybe he like some books?"

A few minutes later she had us all lined up, awaiting our date with the dark side of the Force.

Nobody say anything to tick him off when he gets here, okay? That means you, Little Miss Sunshine. I don't think he's real big on giggles.

A little help, please?

It's been a little over an hour since she knocked me over.

It all happened so fast. Miss C. came running into the room, clutching a stuffed animal under hear arm. Next thing I know I'm lying here on my back. Thank goodness none of the plushes were sitting in me when it happened. They could have been seriously hurt. My 3-point safety harness only does so much, you know?

I'm starting to feel a little woozy, here. Could someone please help me up? Can anybody here me?

Guess I'll have to wait.

I was destined for greatness.

I once thought I was destined for culinary greatness. Poached pears. Roquefort pear salad. Pear tarts. You know, something gorgeous you might see in a gourmet magazine. 

Unfortunately, fate has led me to this play kitchen where I sit in a pot. That in itself isn't so bad – I wouldn't mind taking part in pretend gourmet dishes. Unfortunately, the mini chef in this house is a toddler with a very limited view of the culinary arts. I've been relegated to being added to everything from tomato soup to macaroni and cheese to beans and rice. 

I ask you, do pears belong with any of those dishes? I didn't think so.

Sheesh.

How many times do I have to tell you Farm Girl? Listen closely because I'm not going to explain this again.

Real ducks quack and fly and hatch out of eggs.

I'm a giant rubber ducky. I squeak. I float. I was born in a factory.

I have no idea who this Old MacDonald fellow is or where you can find his farm. Go talk to the Three Little Pigs. Maybe they know.

Is it too much to ask?

Look, I know C batteries aren't that commonly used these days so you probably don't have a spare lying around the house. But for Pete's sake, could you please just go pick one up?

I've got a job to do here, you know. The recycling is supposed to be picked up every Thursday morning, but my loading arm is sluggish and my voice sounds kind of garbled over the loudspeaker. I hate to admit, but I haven't been able to pick it up for months.

I'm going to call my union rep. This is ridiculous.

Pick me! Pick me!

We'll be the first to admit it: life as a book is hardly glamorous. Most days, you sit on the bookshelf all day long hoping to be chosen for story time.

Then that sweet little girl picks you up and asks her mama to read you aloud. You find yourself filled with pride as you watch her enjoy the pictures on your pages and the adventure in your story. You even stand a little straighter when returned to your place on the bookshelf.

And when she wants to read you again and again? You're in love.

I don't belong here.

Miss C. really needs a fridge in her room. You know, one of those cute little pink and white numbers to match her play kitchen. Then I wouldn't be stuck up here in the sun where I most definitely do not belong. Yogurt and I could hang out on the top shelf. Not that we'd talk to Butter. He's a little too full of himself. All those claims about making everything taste better. You'd think he was Bacon or something.

Sigh.

I don't mind the endless diaper changes so much. The other toys give me a hard time about it sometimes, but it doesn't bother me. I know Miss C. is in mommy-mode right now and wants to be just like her mama. She watches Mama change Master W.'s diapers all the time, why shouldn't she do it too?

Everything was going smoothly until she grabbed a wet diaper cover out of the pail today. Things went from bad to worse when she took said cover and put it on me. I couldn't have been more embarrassed.

Thankfully, Mama noticed that I was wet (and a bit stinky) and cleaned me up with a nice cool bath.

So here I sit in the laundry room, waiting to dry.