A short story:
O found some great sticks. Do you know just how much fun a small boy can have with a simple stick? Quite a bit! It is a bat; it is a microphone; it is a baton; it is a flag; it is a shovel. You get the idea! On the walk back to the car, Owen requested that I carry his sticks. Now I know from experience how the rest of this story usually goes. We can never part with the sticks. We bring the beloved sticks home. They live with us, in our house, in our bed sometimes, until finally Mommy has an opportunity to trash the sticks. I do not care much for this scenario. And so, the first chance I got, I must admit I chunked the sticks. O, unaware, dawdled along behind me. I then heard a squeal of delight! "Mommy! I found my sticks!!" Oh my. The sticks had been returned to us. And so, after witnessing Owen's extreme pleasure at re-finding the sticks, they traveled home with us, to be loved on until bed time, when I could once again chunk the sticks.
The sticks are discovered...the first time
This stick makes a great microphone. Fave song these days: Old McDonald Had a Farm.
Picture taken just after the squeal of delight. The sticks are found again! It is our lucky day.
He is so thrilled. How could I deny this face anything?
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