You put out all these mats, all these blankets, all these cushy minky things for your child to play comfortably on . . .
. . . and where does he insist on spending every waking moment?
The hard, cold, fake wood floor.
(And reworking his daddy’s soldering projects while he’s at it.)
You feel so guilty, the first few days/weeks. You constantly police the kid, picking him up and setting him firmly in the middle of the mat 49208952 times, just to see him roll straight off of it in less than five minutes.
He’ll even tease you. Rolls off the mat in three minutes, will spend the next 45 minutes in the same spot just one inch off of the mat. Just to thumb his nose at your comfort standards.
But you get over it. You get to the point where you realize he’s going to end up there anyway, and there are many fun little games to play on your iPad. Or blog entries to write. Or . . . whatever else you do.
So it slowly doesn’t even phase you when the kid decides to shun all of his real toys . . . to befriend . . .
. . . a saltine cracker box.
I mean, you feel guilty just a little bit . . . all . . . “we’re not POOR, child, we’ve bought you REAL TOYS” . . . but. Eh.
Knobby took this picture the other day. When I saw it, it sparked my memory . . .
. . . of me with Paw, in this very same kitchen, in nearly that very same spot.
The decor has changed, but the song remains the same.