I am so used to stepping on, over, or around toys on the floor that I seldom look at them anymore. Yes, there's the pig(s), the bear with the Santa hat, the racoon with no stuffing, the skunk, etc., but I don't really pay that much attention. Ralph is always dragging some critter or other out of the toy basket, and, of course, there's his favorite white cord to pull from room to room. Yesterday he was playing a rowdy game of one-man soccer that would have made Beckham jealous, batting and chasing a Christmas gift bow around the room. Unfortunately he kicked a goal under the chest on the tiles in the foyer. He was so disappointed at his loss and I thought to help him out by getting a stick to fish for the bow in the dark under the chest. It's obvious that I should get a season ticket to his soccer games because I've missed a lot of action. These are not all of the toys that I found he'd kicked under the chest, but it's enough of his treasures to present the idea. Celeste won't play goalie, but she did grab up a hairless hamster to maul last evening. Like a kid who'd rather play with the wrapping than the gift inside the box, Ralph went back to batting the bow.
The sun did come out yesterday and I did bring more wood up to the porch, and also cleaned up the lavender bed.