I bought our laminating machine for something completely boring — a chore chart I was tired of reprinting. It sat on the kitchen counter for exactly one afternoon before my kids discovered it, and it has not been put away since.
The first week we laminated the silliest things: a leaf from the yard, a drawing of a cat with eight legs, a photo of grandma. My son would feed the pouch in and then crouch down at counter level to watch it come out the other side warm and shiny, like a tiny magic trick that he was allowed to operate.
What surprised me is how quickly it stopped being about the machine and became about the ideas. Once they understood that laminating means "this will survive us", they started planning: card games they designed themselves, paper dolls with a whole wardrobe, a nature checklist we take on every walk. It went from sealing a leaf to building a four-player quartet game out of our family photos.
This basket lives on a low shelf now. I keep the machine, a stack of pouches, scissors and a dry-erase marker together, and when someone says "can we laminate this?" the answer is almost always yes — because it costs ten minutes and buys us a toy we actually keep.