What the children got: the ongoing saga

In honor of my younger magpie's sixth birthday today, I bring you the latest accounting of their estate sale scores. The Native American outfit, above, is completely awesome. The tomahawk is not lethal, but she can now add "archery" to the skills section of her resume.

The older child insisted that I buy this copy of Trudy Phillips, New Girl. I applaud its darling cover, but I'm reasonably certain she's never going to read it.

This box of beads and sequins was a straight-up bribe, purchased to buy me a little more time at the infamous Owl Estate Sale. No one has touched the beads since I bought them—though they HAD to have them at the time—but I expect one day they'll meet their fate in a vacuum-cleaner bag.

I must confess that I was the one who bought this Lite Brite, without any nudging or nagging from any small child. I wanted it! I've wanted it for, like, 35 years. That commercial was irresistible. I don't know why my parents never gave it to me, but I rectified that wrong when I found this Lite Brite in the back of someone's closet. The box is beat to hell, but the lites are still brite. Don't we all just want our children to have what we didn't have? Happy birthday, kid.