March 23, 2015
The other day, my brilliant oldest daughter Dylan dumped puzzle pieces from their box. “It’s been a while since we’ve done a family puzzle,” she said.
“You’re right. The last one was that “Wizard of Oz” monstrosity.” That puzzle’s complexity had left miniscule puzzle pieces littering our table for weeks. We laughed as we turned each cardboard bit of this present work to its shiny, colored surface.
“This one looked like it would be easy,” she said.
I considered the box depicting a rather steampunk-influenced Cinderella. Lots of blue and white and the pieces, though only 550 in number, were small. I didn’t say anything.
We called the others to join us. Alexis was busy with teenaged pursuits and declined. Matthew and Sarah tried to be of help, but their skills lacked. They quickly grew bored with simply sorting according to small clues and…
View original post 449 more words