Back in high school, I had to do a report on ancient Egypt, which I got an A. During the research, I came across a fascinating book about ancient Egypt that I ended up reading cover to cover instead of the small part I needed for my report because the author was so engaging and interesting. It was the first non-fiction book, I enjoyed.
I remember reading the chapter about children and childhood in ancient Egypt. The author wrote about the amazing toys found in tombs, in archeological digs. There were toys that rolled, toys that made sound, lions that jaws opened and closed. Some of the toys were very complex. At the end of the chapter, the author went on to write about how the kids were probably delighted by these bright, shiny, new toys but fifteen minutes later they were probably playing with the dirt and rocks, forgetting the toys, like children today. I laughed at the truth of it.
Now I see the truth of it.
Last week to keep the plastic grass carpet from blowing away (because our rental house only has rocks for a backyard), I placed a brick-sized red rock on the corner. It worked perfectly. Then the other day, Sean decided to adopt it. He brought it inside, barely able to carry it. When we tried to take it away in fear of him dropping it on his toe, he wouldn’t be parted with it.
NO! My Ra-rock!
Evan was a little jealous of the attention, so he brought in his own rock, same color, much smaller. With some cartoons and a trip to Grandma’s and Papi’s, Sean forgot all about his rock.
Until we came home.
My Ra-rocks!
Then Sean went back to playing with his rock and Evan’s smaller rock. Evan had moved on. When bedtime came, Sean lugged his rocks into the room with him, sitting next to them during story time. He was insistent that the rocks went to bed with him, but I feared for Sean’s little noggin. I told Sean we would leave them beside his bed, which induced heart-wrenching wail after heart-wrenching wail. Evan chimed that we could put the rocks in the doll bed, and he put them in and covered the rocks with a blanket. I took Sean out of bed to say goodnight to his rocks. In his distress, Sean ran out of the room seeking a place to throw a temper tantrum.
Sean: My Ra-rocks! My Ra-rocks!
Me: Come on, Sean. Let’s say goodnight to the rocks. You can play with them in the morning. They have their own bed, and they are tired. Goodnight, rocks! Sweet dreams, rocks!
Sean: Night-night, my ra-rocks!
While Sean peeked over his rail a few times to make sure his rocks were safe and sound, he made no more commotion about the rocks sleeping arrangements. He went to sleep himself.
The next morning, Sean woke me up for a story and juice. We played for a little bit, until Sean got up and ran from the room. He ran into his bedroom.
Sean: WAKE UP!
Fearing that Sean was trying to wake up a sleeping big brother, I ran into the bedroom to swish him back into the family room. I found Sean on the floor next to the doll bed, cradling the rocks.
Sean: Wake up, my ra-rocks!
Giving into this new turn of events, I’ve decided to go with the flow, praying that Sean doesn’t break any toes. When we leave, I scoop up the rocks and place them in a tote for easy transportation. Every bedtime and naptime, the rocks are put to sleep in the doll bed. I even debated on painting them, but I’ll let Sean tell me if he wants to do that.
I’m just wondering if I should be relieved that it isn’t a coconut that will rot or worry because it’s a rock so it’s here to stay.
Faemom 