(And then Missy got all serious, referred to herself in 3rd person, and wrote the following…)
When my children were little they would collect things in their pockets. They were little pack racks; the kid version of hoarders. Anything that caught their eye would go into their pocket for safe keeping: a colorful leaf; a Skittle, a Happy Meal toy. And, like most moms, I would have to carefully search their pockets before putting their dirty clothes into the wash.
But, now and then, I would miss something, like the time I missed the rock.
Yes, my son had found a rock at the park and it called to him: “PICK ME UP AND PUT ME IN YOUR POCKET SO I CAN WREAK HAVOC ON YOUR MOM’S WASHING MACHINE.”
And wreak havoc, it did. It wasn’t a big rock, probably the size of a bottle cap, but it banged around in the washing machine until I stopped the cycle and fished it out. The washing machine was fine, of course; the rock wasn’t big enough to do any real damage other than making noise. When I complained about it later to the DH, he laughed and said, “Just be glad he didn’t decide to bring home more than one.”