Felicity and Angela were involved in a complicated game that involved an old cardboard box and possibly every single stuffed animal that they have ever been given.
All four hundred and sixty-three of them.
I tolerated this game for a good two hours, as it afforded me the time that I needed to school Jem & Cate and—bonus points!—clean off the desk in my office.
And then I decided that all those stuffed animals needed to go.
(It’s an Advent thing. I need to de-clutter my visual world in order to—what’s that word again?—in order to…um….think.)
“Girls,” I directed. “It’s time to take all these toys upstairs.”
“These aren’t toys, Momma,” Angela protested. “They’re just stuffed animals.”
Breathe patience in. Breathe patience out.
“I call your stuffed animals ‘toys’ because you play with them,” I replied with a sigh (and after breathing).
“Oh,” responded Angela.
And then, “It’s just that we say ‘stuffed animals’ because it’s shorter.”
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