Have they been taking their toys apart? Absolutely. Still, a sheepish little grin crosses their face – head lowering to their chest as if they’re playfully trying to hide it when Bastien picks up the piece of the toy. “I fix it!” They chime, pushing the toy up toward Bastien so he might be able to see it – the way the toy had pieces fit in other places, how it had become something entirely new. It wasn’t exactly anything at all, but tinkering was what they loved to do even at this age.
Instead, a wide grin spreads across their face at the prospect of toys made for taking apart and be put back together. But their attention span is not entirely there, not as Bastien asks whether they’d like to go downstairs and help crush flowers, their head bobbing with quiet excitement, toy discarded among the blankets of their bed. “I want to do that, papa.” They agree, shifting in the bed a bit to try and climb down out of it.
Already thinking of ways they might get the pieces everywhere, what kind of colors might come around from smashing a variety of the colorful blooms.
Instead, a wide grin spreads across their face at the prospect of toys made for taking apart and be put back together. But their attention span is not entirely there, not as Bastien asks whether they’d like to go downstairs and help crush flowers, their head bobbing with quiet excitement, toy discarded among the blankets of their bed. “I want to do that, papa.” They agree, shifting in the bed a bit to try and climb down out of it.
Already thinking of ways they might get the pieces everywhere, what kind of colors might come around from smashing a variety of the colorful blooms.
progress, not perfection
Azrael
