I remember my grandpa telling us stories about what life was like when he was a boy. They didn't have any money so one year for Christmas he received a toy animal which was really a potatoe with tooth picks in it for legs. It's kind of funny, since this is really one of the only stories I remember him telling. The last couple of days our kids seem to have a thing for playing with the sac of potatoes in the kitchen. So many wonderful toys and yet potatoes seem to entertain. I feel like I'm constantly stepping on potatoes or kicking them out of the way. As soon as they empty them out of the bag, Sarah puts the bag in the bathroom garbage can. The first time they did this I couldn't figure out where the bag had gone and therefore couldn't clean up. Thankfully Sarah went and got the bag and put them back (for a few hours anyways). Kids are strange. Funny and wonderful, yet strange.
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