Rock Thief

"Can you get this out of my pocket?"

These were Cooper's opening words when he arrived home from school.

"What? You want me to get something out of your pocket? How did it get in there in the first place?" -- I wanted to ask.

Instead, I did what any curious mother might do and fished out the monster rock that was wedged in his back pocket. His back pocket. His last recess is at 1:20, so for 2.5 hours he sat in class on a huge rock that was almost bigger than his Levi pocket. Let me tell you what this is an indicator of: my son is a rock thief. He loves rocks. Loves them. Every rock is the most special rock in the world and he must save it and bring it home. Sometimes he leaves them in his jean pockets, other times he will put them in his treasure box. I wash so many rocks and stones in my washer, that you would think I would remember to check his pockets. Nope, I am doing good to just get the clothes washed and folded before the next 8 loads pile up. Regardless, rocks and stones are staples at our house. We should, by now, have our own rock garden, but I dispose of rocks any way I can. The bushes, the grass, the trash: pretty much any place I can quickly and stealthily eliminate a rock while Cooper is not looking or when he has temporarily forgotten about it. Let's hope this obsession does not morph into boulders, quartz, gems, minerals, etc.