When it's warm but not too warm, Grace and I (and Allie, if she's awake) spend lots of time outside.
One day last week, we played outside all morning, until it was time to leave for the pool. I put my garden tools away, asked Grace to put her sidewalk chalk and toys away, and gathered everything that we needed to take to the pool.
As I pulled my car out of the garage, I heard a loud pop.
“Grace? Did you put your sidewalk chalk away?” I asked.
I don't think so, no, she said quietly. She almost never puts her things away when she's done with them. It frustrates me immensely. Normally, I put the toys away when she fails to do it, but that day, I was packing our pool bag and forgot to check.
I got out of the car and surveyed the damage.
I wanted Grace to see the pile of chalk, so I unbuckled her and helped her out of the car. I expected her to cry and throw a fit about her now ruined chalk.
She shrugged. It's okay. I have more, she said and returned to her carseat.
The problem is that nothing is special when you have too much. Too many toys, too many art supplies, too many books, too much everything.
And she's learning not to take care of anything.
© 2011 – 2018, Tara Ziegmont. All rights reserved.