Pete's Expert Summary
My human has presented me with an assortment of flat, colorful squares and a strange, circular object with two pointers. They call it a "Time Activity Set," which is, frankly, an insult. Time is not an "activity," it is a state of being, measured not by little black lines but by the shifting angle of a sunbeam on a Persian rug or the growing emptiness in one's stomach. This "Learning Resources" brand seems to believe one can cage the concepts of "nap o'clock" and "dinner o'clock" in cheap plastic. While the large, flimsy clock face itself is a monument to human folly, I will concede that the set's smaller components—particularly the three small, throwable cubes they call "dice" and the 24 double-sided cards—show some promise for skittering across the hardwood floors and disappearing under the credenza. It's a potential mess masquerading as a lesson, a classic human maneuver.
Key Features
- Clock for Kids: Telling time, Time matching (analog and digital), Writing time (analog and digital), Problem solving, Fine motor skills, Self-help
- Homeschool Supplies Must-Have! Learn to identify the hour and minute hands, learn the difference between analog and digital time, identify time to the hour, half hour, and more!
- This clock learning for kids is a hands-on activity kit that turns Learning into a game
- 41-Piece Set includes plastic clock with movable hands, write & wipe clock, 24 double-sided analog and digital puzzle cards, 12 double-sided, write & wipe daily activity cards, 3 time dice plus activity guide.
- Give the Gift of Learning: Whether you’re shopping for holidays, birthdays, or just because, toys from Learning Resources help you discover new learning fun every time you give a gift! Ideal gift for Halloween, Christmas, Stocking Stuffers, Easter Baskets Stuffers or even for Homeschool.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The box was opened with an air of misplaced educational optimism. Out spilled a cascade of plastic and cardboard: puzzle pieces, strange cards with digital hieroglyphs, and three perfectly bite-sized cubes. At the center of this debris field sat the main offender: a garish yellow clock, its plastic hands limp and lifeless. My human placed it on the floor, beaming, and declared, "Look, Pete! We're going to learn about time!" I responded with a slow blink, the highest form of condescension I can muster. Learn about time? I, who have mastered the art of knowing the precise second the refrigerator door will open for the morning cream? I, who can predict the mail carrier's arrival with more accuracy than any "double-sided, write & wipe daily activity card"? The human began the ritual, moving the long hand to the six and the short hand to the four. "This is 4:30, Pete! That's when we have our evening playtime!" A preposterous notion. Evening playtime commences when the last vestiges of the day's energy curdle into a frantic, chaotic burst of zoomies, an event governed by instinct, not by the arbitrary alignment of two plastic sticks. I watched from the arm of the sofa, tail twitching in irritation as they laid out the puzzle cards, attempting to match a drawing of a clock with a blocky, digital number. It was all so rigid, so... sterile. My moment came when the human, momentarily distracted by a buzzing notification from their own glowing rectangle, left the plastic clock set to "8:00." A number utterly devoid of meaning. The sun had set, the house was quiet, but it was not yet time for the final territorial patrol. There was a subtle energy shift required, a specific quality to the silence that had not yet been achieved. To demonstrate their folly, I gracefully descended from my perch. I ignored the tempting puzzle cards and approached the clock. With the practiced ease of a seasoned predator, I hooked a single claw under the little red "minute" hand and gently, but firmly, nudged it backward. Then, for good measure, I located one of the three "time dice" and expertly batted it under the heaviest piece of furniture in the room. The human returned, puzzled by the altered timepiece and the missing die. I, however, had made my point. I trotted to the center of the room, stretched languidly, and began to groom my pristine white bib, a clear signal that the day's official business was concluded on *my* schedule. The clock was a charlatan, a crude instrument incapable of capturing the true, fluid nature of existence. Its dice, however, make for excellent projectiles. A mixed success, but a victory for feline intuition nonetheless.
