Kidy
The floor of your room has disappeared, little one. Under the blocks, under the animals, under one sock that belongs to nobody, there is supposedly a carpet. And now comes the worst sentence in the world: time to tidy up. Your shoulders drop all the way down. Tidying up is how fun ends.
'Tidying? Easy,' says Growy, and gets to work at once. Growy lifts the edge of the rug and shoves everything under it, blocks, animals, the mystery sock, everything, then stands proudly on top of the lumpy mountain. 'Done!' You shake your head slowly. 'Growy. They are not away. They are just hiding. Under there they are still a mess, only a secret one.'
Growy climbs down, thinking hard. 'Then we need the parade.' And Growy picks up the little bear, holds it high, and marches it across the room, pum pum pum, to its basket. And as the bear lands in its home, it hums. One small, round note, like a bell made of fur. You grab the blocks. Each one, landing in its box, hums its own little note, all different.
So the parade marches on, toy after toy, pum pum pum, and note after note falls into place. And when the very last animal lands on the shelf, all the little notes are still hanging in the air, and they join, just for a moment, into one small song. The song of a finished room. 'Toys do not get put away,' says Growy, listening. 'Toys go home.'
You stand in the doorway and look: the carpet is back, the shelf is full, and every toy is where it will wait for you tomorrow. That is the real secret, tidying is not the end of the game, it is the game getting ready for next time. 'So, little one,' Growy asks, 'did we grow a little today?' You did. 'Here is your little grow for tonight,' says Growy. 'Walk ONE toy home, and listen for its note.' See you tomorrow, little one.