Our neighbor, Ms. Carol, who loves to watch the girls when I need to run errands or take a child to the doctor during naptime, walks with a cane. She calls it her trusty steed and makes jokes about using it to injure anyone who would do her bodily harm. She also informed me last summer during a power outage that she was 'packin' heat,' in case anyone got any ideas while she was sleeping with her windows open. I don't worry about my children's safety when Ms. Carol is over. Despite her 70 years, my guess is the kids are safer with her than with me.
The girls like Ms. Carol's cane. They use it to amble around the house when she's here. When she's not here, they use larger than life, bendable toy flowers to pretend they have canes of their own. They walk slowly around the house saying, "My cane, my cane." It's very silly and very strange and I have no idea why this is their mantra.
On a recent afternoon visit from Ms. Carol, when we walked into the front room to wish her goodbye, we discovered two canes where previously there had just been one.
At our house, everything has its proper place: shoes in the shoe bin, coats in the closet and canes on the doorknob.