Ten toes. Ten clothes pegs.
One clipped onto each toe.
It started as a way to keep Remy amused while I hung out the washing.
Now it’s a daily ritual.
Same with making pretend shish kebabs from sticks and leaves.
Or emptying the pool filter together.
Most of it starts with me.
Then, not long after, it starts with him.
He’s a sponge.
I do something once…
and he brings it back later.
At first it feels like play.
Then you realise something else is happening.
He’s not just playing.
He’s copying.
I’ve heard the line before — kids don’t listen, kids copy.
But it lands differently when you see it up close.
It’s not just the big things.
It’s tone.
Timing.
What we pay attention to.
What we ignore.
For most of history, kids grew up surrounded by adults they could orient around.
People who weren’t perfect — but were steady.
You could watch them and, without anyone explaining it, start to understand:
What matters.
What’s normal.
How to handle things.
I watched a Louis Theroux: The Manosphere last night.
It’s a different kind of influence.
And it made me think about how many places kids might now be learning from.
If they’re sponges, they’ll absorb whatever’s nearby.
Remy doesn’t have many places to look yet.
Mostly, it’s just us.
Which probably means he’s watching more closely than I realised.