Speaking of toys…we really REALLY need to address the definition of a toy.   If I can’t play with it, can’t lick it, can’t bounce it, it doesn’t make noises…then momma needs to stop calling it a toy.  Seriously.

Yesterday, my mom was doing this weird movement she claims is dancing.  She was squeaking and yelling (not mumbling for a change), “It’s here!  It’s here!  My new toy is here!!  Wahoo!!”  And then she did more “dancing”.  I’m so glad my friends weren’t over because it was SO embarrassing.

Because she said “toy”, I was waiting for something pretty exciting to come out of the box.  So I watched with one of my new expressions of surprise and big eyes, ready to say, “Tada!”  when she pulled out the toy.   Only it was not a toy.  No way.  She carefully lifted this black rounded contraption-tool-thingy I’ve come to know as the picture-taker…the camera.  She kept calling it a Canon 40-D and saying it was lovely and amazing.  I’ll tell you what’s lovely and amazing… my push cars and bouncy balls.   Needless to say, while she lifted it, ooo-ed and aaa-ed, smiled big, jumped up and down, and generally made a fool of herself, I went down the checklist.   I KNOW I can’t touch it.  She and daddy have made that clear.  That doesn’t mean I don’t try, but now they’ve put the special tool-thingy up on a shelf…way out of my reach.  (Don’t worry, I’m working on my climbing skills and general core strength.  Ha Ha Ha!)  And, basically since I can’t touch it, that means I can’t lick it, bounce it or discover the noises it makes.   Epic fail as the definition a toy if you ask me.   Momma insists that it is really fun to play with though, and she DOES look really happy!  She looks so happy, that I find myself smiling back at her.  Of course, she mistakes this as my own excitement over said toy.   She says someday I’ll have my own.  Yea yea.  Yawn.

Well…momma’s new toy (I’m still not convinced it is a toy) can only mean one thing:  we’re off on another field adventure.