One time this happened...

My grandmother has this peculiar habit of hiding an enormous rubber spider under her tea towels when we come to visit. It's this enormous, furry monstrosity with giant, beady eyes that sends a shiver down the spines of both my siblings and me.

The smell of stale glue and yesterday's paste still clings to my hands as I stare down at the crumpled up paper. It's my attempt at a masterpiece – a majestic castle rising from the waves, but it's more like a crumpled taco with legs.

Sometimes in secret, when mom is making breakfast, I grab a handful of fluffy pancake batter and shape it into a miniature frog sitting on its lily pad, trying not to giggle as I slide it onto the countertop.

In a burst of unrequited enthusiasm, I spent the entire Saturday trying to train my stuffed rabbit, Fuzzy, to fetch. I fashioned a makeshift obstacle course using couch cushions, coffee tables, and strategically placed socks.

My grandma still has a stash of antique harmonicas in the attic. I stumbled upon them last summer, and out came this one yellow harmonica, its reed vibrating silently in my mouth while she told me about her high school crushes - his name was Edgar, Edgar Fothergill.

Sometimes I wake up feeling like a wild mustang – bucking off the soft, worn sheets like they're restraints trying to hold me back, while the morning sunlight pours over me in a gentle, sticky mess. My room's a chaos of stuffed animals and rainbow-colored tangles of yarn but I love it that way.