It became evident this past weekend that perhaps I might have been too zealous in my attempt to clear the clutter, ditch the junky plastic toys and strive for a more peaceful, Zen life. This light bulb moment came when my son pilfered a box of Irish Spring soap from our gardening supplies, and named it “Slipy.”
He faltered between carrying the box with the soap inside, to sometimes just carrying it au naturel, without the box. When he shook the bar of soap in the box, he asked everyone of us, “Doesn’t this sound like a horse?” Try it. It does. You know what I thought? Guilt about not giving my kids a pet… they have to use soapboxes as surrogates. Seems there’s a disconnect here, because I thought we did have pets — but I guess it’s just the boys.
The surrogate pony was doing well; until Slipy suddenly got wet.
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