100 Ball-Pit Balls …
What was I thinking?
Have you ever let your desire to buy your child a fun gift overcome your good sense? As I have written about many times before, I have a little problem with housework. It overwhelms me. My house and car seem to stay in a constant state of disaster, even though that is the opposite of my desire. I really was a neat person once upon a time. But not anymore.
I have taken many steps to remedy this issue, including getting rid of a lot of the messiest toys we own. So why did I buy a package of 100 ball-pit balls for my youngest daughter for Christmas? I imagined those little balls in their little tent — a lovely sensory activity for my autistic child when she needs to decompress. Wrong! Most of the balls have never seen the inside of that tent, and the ones that did were in and out so fast they never knew what hit them. Instead, they are a waterfall down the stairs, an ocean on the floor, and a object to trip me when it’s dark. I wonder why I do it to myself.
But then I think about how quickly childhood passes. True, my autistic daughter has moved through developmental stages much slower than her older sister, but still. I won’t always have balls all over the house. I won’t always have doll clothes, either. What I will have are memories, so … viva la waterfalls!