I squinched my eyes shut and thought hard. What in the Sam Hill do they do all day? Am I depriving my kids? And if I am, why aren't they complaining? I resolved to pay more attention on the morrow, and trundled off to bed.
This morning, the vast majority of my subjects headed off to school, leaving me with only Shani to observe. She spent a half an hour sliding crayons down the ramp of the aforementioned Playskool garage. She scribbled relentlessly with said crayons in her "journal." She fed her doll and "packed a lunch" for the two of them in the kitchen. She pushed the doll around the dining room in her stroller and then hid the crayons in the basket underneath. She washed her hands, the bathroom sink, and much of the floor before I caught her. She folded washcloths and napkins and helped sort the laundry. We tossed a beanbag back and forth. She's napping now, exhausted from her morning's exertions, and I'm not feeling particularly compelled to run to Goodwill to stock up on toys.
Over the years we've had cubbies overflowing with pegs and pegboards, linking toys, and every possible educational manipulative on the market. We've had talking, buzzing, tweeting electronic devices from