There are two gigantic blow-up hammer things that my daughters won at a summer festival. They squeak when you step on them. There is a 40-inch inflated red ball that my brother — who has no children — gave my daughters for a recent birthday. There are two beach balls that my daughters still play with, despite it being November. There are three Mylar balloons from recent birthday parties, now sadly hovering inches above the floor.

And the latest addition to this inflatable world? Ten 20-inch-high inflatable bowling pins and an equally large inflatable bowling ball. The blow-up bowling set is what my kindergartner selected as her prize for (her dad and I) selling 39 items in her first-ever school fundraiser. Nowhere on the brochure did I read "inflatable" or "enormous" or "will take up an entire room." So we let her get them.

We throw these inflatable toys in the beautiful room because that’s where we have extra space. So that’s where they stay, squeaking in protest when an adult enters, blowing around when the AC turns on, bouncing among the other too-large-for-other-rooms toys that my daughters own, including a rocking horse (gift from Grandma), a not-so-mini toy grand piano (from a great aunt and uncle), and a foldable tent that is usually unfolded (also from Grandma).

When you have a baby, there are many things you are unprepared for. You are unprepared for the exhaustion. You are unprepared for the difficulty of breastfeeding. You are unprepared for the sudden, overwhelming anxiety that the Baby Bjorn will malfunction and your newborn will fall to the ground.

You are also unprepared for how much space little people take up.

The baby swing. The pack-n-play. The bassinet. The bouncy seat. The high chair. The sippy cups. The plastic bowls. The plastic spoons. The "easy to fold!" travel system. The exer-saucer. The snowpants — oh, the snowpants.

And then they grow.

And they get a play kitchen. And a T-ball set. And a doll crib and a fun-tunnel. And a big wheel, and a bigger big wheel, and a scooter and a two-wheel bike. And a travel system for their baby doll. And Grandma gets them a toy car — and then a second toy car because Grandma believes each child should really have her own. And then the other Grandma buys them a train set. And then they win gigantic inflatable hammers at summer festivals and enormous inflatable bowling pins from school fund-raisers.

And your children — who together could fit into one laundry basket — have taken over every single room of your house. Including the basement and the garage.

I love my children. I love the generosity of their grandparents. And I realize that every toy is a luxury, a gift, a blessing. But some of them drive me absolutely nuts.

• I hate the Polly Pocket Ariel princess, whose long red plastic hair falls off any time you change her weirdly flexible plastic clothes. She seems to move around our house completely on her own, so I step on a bald Ariel downstairs, and step on the same bald Ariel in the upstairs hallway later that afternoon.

• I hate the plastic "Style Me!" head with the fake growing hair and the overly made-up eyes. Hair falls out every time my daughter touches her, so there are strands of icky fake dark hair all over our house.

• I hate the play kitchen (but admittedly love how it entertains my kids). It has this horrible, cheerful voice that talks at random when the batteries start to die. Meaning we’ve awoken at 3 a.m. to that horrible, cheerful voice asking, "What do you want to eat?" and then lecturing, "When you want to cook something else, just turn the knob on the stove. ... Time to clean up and put everything away."

• I hate those light-activated sound puzzles. For a while, we couldn’t find the horse piece to the farm puzzle. Every time we turned off my daughters’ bedroom light, somewhere, somehow, the horse would neigh.

• I hate those tiny Barbie pants made for ages 3+ but impossible for 3-year-olds (and their 30-something parents) to actually put on the Barbies. We have half-naked Barbies sticking out of every toy basket in our home.

• I hate this Winnie the Pooh toy that a dear friend gave my first-born years ago. When you hug or kiss it, it says things like "Your kisses are as sweet as honey" and "What a very snuggly huggly ... oh, snugglier please?" Problem is, it says all these things in this freakishly old-man-pedophile-ly voice, then asks for more: "Yes, like that. ... Even snugglier ..." And worse, if you ignore it for a few minutes, it says "A very large Pooh Bear hug would be nice right about now." I hate toys that remind you they’re still there.

Which of your children’s toys drive you crazy? What toys do you hate? As the holidays draw near, what toys would you like to put back on Santa’s sleigh?