Realization

Another reason I'm lucky: I think I could count on one hand that number of times I have heard my child say "I'm bored". And, it [usually] isn't because her brain has been liquefied by hours of TV. (I say "usually" because we just may start to see some seepage out her ears this afternoon following an all-morning-long marathon that included Saddleclub. I am way more generous with TV time when Guy is out of town. He left last night, so this morning was preemptive "me time for me TV for you" so I don't go nuts later this weekend.) Thing is, she, at 6.5 / almost 7, still has a totally crazy imagination that enables her to spend hours (honest to god) wandering around muttering to herself and her friends / sisters / brothers / horses / dog in elaborate fantasies. Sometimes a good dose of TV actually sort of primes the pump for a whole new crop of stories. (Ack, mixed metaphors.) To wit: I think she may be rescuing someone from a mine shaft right now, inspired by this morning's viewing. Not to come off as a smug alpha-mom with awesome parenting skills. At all. Because I think she is the way she is because I was never one for much getting down on the carpet and playing with her. Benign neglect breeds imagination. That's my theory, anyway.