One of the little grandsons is pouring water from a miniature carafe into miniature cups. His younger brother, his cousin, each one patiently waits for his tea. The little table is surrounded by small puddles of water.
A book titled The Terror of ISIS has made its way from my bookshelf to the family room floor, because the photo of red-scarfed men carrying machine guns caught the three-year-old's curiosity.
The state of Colorado is missing from the United State's puzzle.
The green and white polka dot fabric covered bench looks whimsically fantastic at the end of the kitchen table. It's everyone's favorite place to cuddle or lounge in while talking to the person working in the kitchen. It been the go-to place of regular guests; it became my favorite place to sit while eating--no straight backed chair for my meals. It became the perfect place for grandchildren to sit at: soft, safe from falling out of, and a nice place to wipe their little hands.
Yikes.
So I had it cleaned. Covered it at mealtime, eventually moved it to the other room to save it from utter destruction. It seemed to make it's way back to the table shortly after each time it was moved. There it rests, there it stays.
Few things stay. Few things remain static. Children hardly stay children, and that is the thing to remember.
A book titled The Terror of ISIS has made its way from my bookshelf to the family room floor, because the photo of red-scarfed men carrying machine guns caught the three-year-old's curiosity.
The state of Colorado is missing from the United State's puzzle.
The green and white polka dot fabric covered bench looks whimsically fantastic at the end of the kitchen table. It's everyone's favorite place to cuddle or lounge in while talking to the person working in the kitchen. It been the go-to place of regular guests; it became my favorite place to sit while eating--no straight backed chair for my meals. It became the perfect place for grandchildren to sit at: soft, safe from falling out of, and a nice place to wipe their little hands.
Yikes.
So I had it cleaned. Covered it at mealtime, eventually moved it to the other room to save it from utter destruction. It seemed to make it's way back to the table shortly after each time it was moved. There it rests, there it stays.
Few things stay. Few things remain static. Children hardly stay children, and that is the thing to remember.
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