The Pit-fall's Of Collecting Things

I collect things.

Treasures really.

Really important and sometimes historical things.

Like the bamboo fishing rod and rake heads to go with the jar of marbles, and the old city cemetery grave digging shovel, and then there is the old milking bucket....you get the point.

I also baby sit our youngest grand daughter. We have very deep, philosophical conversations, she and I. 

For instance...
I was holding her while talking about what to have for lunch the other day and she was looking up while she was thinking.
(Apparently something I should do more of).

You know, because looking up helps you to think when your saying, "Ummm...Ummm...".

In the middle of her deliberations she put her hands on my cheek's and cranked my head in the direction she was looking and yelled, "Wook! Grammy! Wook!!! HAIR!".

To which I gasped and said, "Why yes. That IS hair! Gross!"

Tiny Dancer's snappy come back was, "No, Grammy. No hair. POOP."

I spent the time getting lunch ready trying to convince her that it was not poop, which is the grossest thing she can think of, but dust, lots of dust.

After lunch she went down stairs with her spoonful of Nutella desert. (I'm a Grammy, not a saint), and I started to collect cleaning supplies and a ladder to begin what looked to be a long afternoon of "hair removal". When I heard a small voice say, "Oh no! Grammy. Wook!"

And off I went to clean Nutella off the stairs where the spoon had bounced...and got caught up in dancing and playing baby's and...

I'm really hoping to get to the "hair" today...oops...there it is..."Grammy, come pway. Pweese? Pwitty pweese?"...

Ok Saturday, at the latest, and I'm pretty sure that a lot of the treasures are coming down with the dust.

Smile and remember;

We're fool's whether we dance or not. So we might as well dance.