I have a thing for buttons; an addiction really. I'm like the Ellis Island of button-keepers. I don't care about color, shape, size, or even if they are grubby. I want 'em. And the chances of them ever leaving this house are pretty slim. I can't help it. They are like tiny drops from a rainbow, and each new hue ads to the collection. Here's another thing, my little boy is my Chief Button Sorter. He will sit down with a bag of buttons and painstakingly sort each one, carefully cradling each button in his tiny hands until he decides exactly which color it belongs with. It's a very sweet process to watch, and he is a pretty cheap worker. He works for. . . what else?! Buttons. He picks a few favorites out of each bag and shoves them into his pockets. I have yet to see his collection, but I am pretty sure it is beginning to rival my own.
Now the daughter, on the other hand, is not so interested in the sorting of the buttons. She goes straight for the sparkly, the pink, and the big. And, unlike myself, she is absolutely okay with gluing them to any surface that will hold still. She adheres to the "if you love something, set it free..." adage, or at least, "if you love something, put a glob of glue on it and stick it to something else." Either way, I'm going to try to be more like her and let go of a button or two. Three at the most.
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