one letter difference

I loaned my camera to my mother for her trip to Israel. After borrowing her camera, I realized that her need for a speedy shutter was far greater than mine. Therefore, I'll try to keep my posts short and sweet, since there will be precious few photos to accompany them. You're welcome.

Blake's been asking to get his John Deere toys out of the garage for a while now. After telling the grandpa who had given them to him that "Mom threw them away," or "Mom gave them to the church nursery," I told him in no uncertain terms that I'd done no such thing. We'd chosen to box them up and put them in the garage to clear the house and make it look uncluttered for selling (Side note: we needn't have bothered. No one wants the condo. YET.).

"Please stop telling people I've thrown things away. It's unkind to those who have given you toys, and it's usually NOT TRUE."

We got the box of new-again toys, and he's been mowing down the corn and wheat in our carpet ever since. To make room, all of us sifted through Blake's two main toy repositories today. I required him to decide what went where (no more blaming me!), and if he opted for garbage, HE walked it and tossed it. Brilliant! Ridiculous quantities of cheap, made-in-China plastic have been culled from our home. Fabulous!

But upon opening the toy box in his room, I discovered where Transformers go to die. There were body parts everywhere... it was gruesome. We replaced all the sadness with weaponry that all fits now that it's not a boneyard. We've got a box of toys headed to the garage and another headed to the garbage. I hope I don't get mixed up about what goes where.