Our youngest leaves her toys everywhere throughout our house. Everywhere. Sometimes I pretend to be annoyed by it - I’m not sure why. Other times I’m genuinely annoyed by it. Also not sure why. Childhood memories are often centered around toys. I can distinctly remember my radio-controlled black Firebird Trans Am - think Smokey and the Bandit - that could spin out in dramatic fashion if you hit the linoleum floor of the kitchen just right. The kitchen that I only knew for a short while: until my parents split when I was eight. Memories of those first eight years are kind of sparse. But dammit I remember that black Firebird.
Toys Everywhere
Toys Everywhere
Toys Everywhere
Our youngest leaves her toys everywhere throughout our house. Everywhere. Sometimes I pretend to be annoyed by it - I’m not sure why. Other times I’m genuinely annoyed by it. Also not sure why. Childhood memories are often centered around toys. I can distinctly remember my radio-controlled black Firebird Trans Am - think Smokey and the Bandit - that could spin out in dramatic fashion if you hit the linoleum floor of the kitchen just right. The kitchen that I only knew for a short while: until my parents split when I was eight. Memories of those first eight years are kind of sparse. But dammit I remember that black Firebird.