Basket of...

When we're at Target, which is like every single day, Lyla cooperates for a certain amount of time and then requires immediate entertainment. One time a box containing a tube of Thomas the Train toothpaste kept her busy for 20 minutes. Another time it was her mother's empty Starbucks iced tea cup with cover and straw.

There's not a non-perverted-sounding way to say this, so I'll just say it. You know the huge basket full of giant balls? In the toy department? The really big balls? Yeah, those. During my childhood, one of the best ways to hear the word "No" was to ask for one.

"But it's only $1.34."

"No."

"But I'll buy it with my own money."

"No."

So today one of my crusted-over childhood wounds began to heal for good when I was able to provide for my daughter what was denied to me so, so many times. Lyla held onto it silently as we shopped, wouldn't let go of it as the cashier scanned it...


...and was still holding it as we pulled into our driveway.

And admittedly, I think at this point she's pretty much done with it.