i get paid in trinkets

One of the many hats I wear as a parent is that of butler. Opening doors for our short-statured entourage, holding straws out for sipping when hands are occupied by nuggets or sticky with ketchup, carrying backpacks crammed with stuff like dolls and bedazzled cardboard paper towel rolls. . . even Benson wouldn't be caught dead crafting a force-field out of toilet paper at the food court bathroom.

Wiping noses and butts is far from being the highlight of my day as a mom, and the rewards aren't always the obvious "thanks" and pats on the back I sometimes find myself starved for at the end of a hard day. Learning to do without the outward appreciation is easier than it may seem. A tantrum caused by a catalyst pair of socks is squeezed out of mind by a hug for "no good reason".

And my reward for doing endless piles of dirty laundry is a cheerful and whimsical collection of tiny treasures.

pocket things

ps- Yesterday Sam hit his head on a bench, the floor, and a book. Thankfully, he lives to tell the tale.

squish

Happy Humpday.