Asa's stool

A foam rocket shot up on the counter?

Crayons out of reach on the craft table?

A comfy couch waiting for someone to lounge on?

No problem.  Even though he is only about three feet tall.

No problem when he has a stool anyway.

Being the third child, Asa doesn't have many things that are solely his. Toys blend together. He plays with tea sets, eats with a pink spoon, and reads our tattered copy of Goodnight Moon even though the binding no longer holds the book together.

But the black plastic stool I got free with a rebate at Menards is Asa's.

The stuffed animals, the books, the blocks, Legos, those are all ambiguous and at any time ownership may shift from one child to the next. 

The stool is always Asa's.

Maybe because I know what it's like to not be able to reach something on your own two legs.

And it's partly because I totally love his ingenuity to go get a stool when he sees something up high he can't reach or wants to sit on the couch and no one is around to help him up.

Upstairs, downstairs, it doesn't matter where he needs to reach, he doesn't mind lugging the stool up and down.  It's almost half his size, but the handle in the middle makes it manageable and gives him the ability to be one of the big kids.

I feel a bit sad that I haven't been there to always get what he needs or lift him to where he wants to go. but I am proud of him for figuring it out on his own.

I love this determination in my Asa and will continue to defend his stool.