Similies Overdone...

Attempting to be a hack writer is not a goal to which many people aspire. It is a feat accomplished by many, however unintentionally. Since my gigantoid fear of failure holds me
back from any serious attempt at writing, I figure a non-serious down-right silly effort might be more my style.
Many success gurus suggest to starting small, aiming for an achievable goal at the outset of any endeavor. I am fairly confident that I can overuse similies (and mixed metaphors) to create a silly, humorous story while keeping my neurotic fear of failure (and success) in tact.
{It is important that we protect our little bits of insanity because if we were all healed and whole, what kind of world would that be?} *That's called rhetoric PEOPLE!!!*

Content Warning: The following exerpt from my brain contains more similies than a person should ingest in one sitting. Side effects from reading this post may include nausea, vomiting, headache, eye throbbing, diarrhea and general anal leakage.

Saturday was a crisp winter day, the fresh covering of snow on the
hill made it look like a large white wedding cake. The
children's footprints reminded me of tiny icing rosebuds completing the
effect. I surveyed the backyard with new eyes like an anthropologist on a
distant planet. My view of our house suddenly transformed in a
warm wave of nostalgia. My prison walls became a fortress of
strength, comfort and provision. In my excitement over a new house I
had forgotten to mourn the loss of a childhood home, like a soldier rushing off
to war to escape the monotony of the farm only to long for mother's nagging
voice in a blood soaked field.
In an unexpected moment of desparation I clung to childhood memories like a drowing rat. I placed my daughter in the maple tree my brothers had climbed attempting to preserve the delicate heirloom of family memoirs. Her laughter transported me like a magical portal through time back to a moment when I stood under the same tree with a sense of majestic wonder. I was filled with an overwhelming sense of gratitude like a zealous new-born christian overcome by the meaning of salvation. I was so blessed to be raised under the shade of this maple
tree with a family that loved and nurtured me. Was it an act of prodigal
ingratitude to sell the very bosom of my family's hearth?
The truth dawned on me like the rays of the morning sun. The house
had been oyster shell of nacre but the pearl was my family, and I could say
good-bye to the shell without losing the treasure I cherished. I
completed the emotional process of moving, packed up the joy and sorrows that I
had experienced at this address and marked the box "childhood memories".
Like day follows night, the excitement of our future home bubbled to the
surface once again. The circle of life would continue with my children's
memories being formed within the walls of our new home. However,
there was still i's to dot and t's to cross on this transfer letter, the
transition wouldn't be complete without one last slide down the little hill in
the park so that is exactly what we did! We took one last ride on our pink
and red sleds before moving on to search out new hills to climb.