Tag Archive | Foot

The Amazing Box

playing in a box, baby in a box, child in a box, crawling in a box, box, boxes, kids playing, creative playA few weeks ago, my MIL sent us a box of stuff.  Actually, that’s not true.  A few weeks ago, we received a box of stuff that my MIL sent us.  She sent the box a month before we received it; it apparently had gotten stuck at the port, where they had to check its contents and do the rest of the usual customs procedures.  We got a note that we had a box at the post office, and Yitzchak went up to get it, paying 245 shekels (about $62) in customs fees.

The box contained clothes, boots, a coat (remember, it was sent at the beginning of the winter, and Shlomo is her first grandchild) and toys.  The best toy?  The box itself.  Good thing she knew that would happen, or else she might be insulted.

We put Shlomo in the box.  We tickled him while he was in it.  Shlomo drank his milk in the box, and closed the flaps over his head as best he could.  He stepped on it and played with it, colored on it and and climbed in it and dumped it, and eventually, I cut off one of the shorter sides, thinking to throw it away, but deciding that it was still a good toy.   Turns out that was a good decision, because cutting off one of the sides made it even more fun.  Now, Shlomo could get in and out by himself!  Wow, this was cool!

So, in and out he went. He layed down in the box, and asked me to “close” the top of it.  He crawled into it.  He stood it up on its side and put his doll and her stroller into it, and closed the flaps behind them.  He put the box, top down, on the floor, and crawled into the “cave”.  Then I crawled into the cave (only my head and shoulders fit), and he came in after me.  Then, I had to go into the cave again.  And again.

When, two days ago, I was rearranging our storage areas (closets, under beds, boxes, etc.) to put away some clothes, I ended up emptying two boxes.  They were kind of dirty, of course, because they had been outside, but it was late, so I left them on the kitchen floor and went to bed.

And in the morning, the first thing Shlomo wanted to play with were these filthy boxes.  I let him play with them for a few minutes, and then put them outside the door, washed his hands, and gave him his clean, broken box.

I wonder when the box will finally get tossed.  On the other hand, it’s a really good, inexpensive, creative toy.

Missing Socks

socks, pile of socks, colorful socks, laundry

Last night:

In a pile in the living room are two socks, a vest, and thermals (all Yitzchak’s), as well as a shirt (Shlomo’s).  (There were toys underneath this pile, but they have since been discovered and put away.)  In the middle of the living room floor are another two socks: one Yitzchak’s, one Shlomo’s.  There are also two dirty shirts of Shlomo’s, and two pairs of his pants (all from today – we double-layer).

Me (to Yitzchak): “We’re missing two socks, one of yours and one of Shlomo’s.  I think missing socks are genetic.  Arrrggg.”  (Obviously, since Yitzchak is definitely the one passed on the gene, I am free of this fault.)

Yitzchak pulls a sock off his foot, and throws it on the floor behind me.  “Here’s the missing sock.  Maybe you should check next time that it’s not on my foot.”

Me: “Where?  I don’t see it.”

Yitzchak points to where it landed, crumpled into a ball.  “Over there, see?”

Me: “Thanks.  Now we’re just missing one of Shlomo’s.”

Yitzchak: “Say it: ‘I was wrong’.”

Me: “Fine, I was wrong; your sock is not missing.  It could still be genetic, though.”

We look around the room.  We are also missing two cardboard Thomas the Tank books from the set.  I decide not to bother looking for them until morning.  I am about to give up on the sock, as well (or at least look in the bedroom, instead), when Yitzchak has an idea.

Yitzchak: “You know, Shlomo’s sock might actually still be on his foot.”

Me: “Really?”

YItzchak: “Could be.”

Me: “Can you go check?”

(Shlomo is sleeping, but he usually kicks off his covers.  Yitzchak goes in to check.)

Yitzchak: “Yeah, it’s on his foot.  My right sock was on my right foot, and his right sock was on his right foot!”  He laughs.

Me: (laughing) “See, I told you it was genetic!”