I always roll pairs of socks into balls when I do the laundry. Breanna always finds George’s socks, the small ones that he wears in his running shoes when he’s wearing shorts. For some reason, they entertain her beyond belief. She’ll wave them over her head, pound the floor with them, and occasionally sit and chew happily on them, probably thinking deep thoughts about how to achieve peace in the Middle East as she does. She’ll sit and play with a pair of his socks while surrounded by actual toys, oblivious to their presence.
When she grows up, if she ever writes a memoir or becomes famous enough for an autobiography, I hope that she’ll call it My Daddy’s Socks.
Isn’t it crazy how they can have the coolest toys, but they’d rather play with a ball of dust on the floor or a piece of trash. I watched this morning as my son entertained himself for forty five minutes with a friggin straw. Like it’s the best toy ever. For his birthday I am going to take him to the dump. It’ll be better than Disney World.
Toys? 1/ paper sacks, 2/ newspaper, 3/ sewing spools, 4/ rubber bands, 5/ clothes pins (with or without the springs), blankets over card tables, 6/ cardboard boxes … and on we go. lol