When watching my grand-son, now 6, trucks filled out living room; the mammoth, light up fire truck, the Hess trucks with lights and noise, an assembly of trucks, a fleet of them. They sit in the old wooden toy box unused. He has moved on, in first grade, and loves every action hero imaginable. An army of them.
This sweet little girl, though tough and strong when she needs to be, doesn’t care much for trucks, or action heroes, or blasting Poppy with her fists, wrestling him to the ground, like her brother does.
So? We need an update. I need to buy something. I realize this Wednesday, and by Friday when she arrived, a new kitchen awaited her.
I had so much fun Thursday, answering an ad that had been posted only two hours prior. Samuel took time from his mowing to drive the truck to fit in this adorable kitchen. After removing the over-stuffed rocker, we carried it into the living room. I spent the afternoon in little girl mode, dressing it up, finding all that I needed in my own kitchen to stock it; emptying snack boxes, orange juice cartons, the last of the milk gallon, bowls, baby spoons, a tiny sauce pot with lid, even her cute little apron that she used to help NaNa bake over last winter.
She clung to Mommy the next morning, until I told her to look around the corner. Mommy was quickly forgotten, waving good-bye, and my grand-daughter just stared and smiled. And smiled, and smiled. Then she got busy, feeding us, washing the dishes, feeding her baby, answering the phone. She did not know what to do first.