Thinking inside the box

The kids and I went to the office store and bought a new chair for Tommy to sit in at the computer armoire the other day.  The arm of the old one has been broken for a few months, and even the cat is ashamed to sit in it anymore.  So we are now the proud owners of a new leather office chair and, more importantly, of the box it came in.

Tommy wanted to cut the box down tonight and put it out with the recycling for the morning, but our recycling bin was pretty full this week so I've put it off for a week.  Honestly, I feel like a huge hypocrite for throwing out a box when the kids still want to play in it.  I grew up in a succession of recliner boxes; our house was large enough that we had the room to keep them around and out of sight until they collapsed from overexuberant inhabitation.  My neighbor Becky and I would decorate the insides with drawings of rainbows and unicorns, carry in flashlights or a lantern and some snacks, and not be seen again for hours.

In our house today, sadly, there is no place for the box to reside but the living room or den.  It's not large enough for the two of them to be inside together anyway, and they play more roughly than I used to (or boxes aren't as sturdy as they used to be).  I bought them a week.  By next Thursday, they'll probably have it broken anyway.