Thing 2 has a good friend named C. (Clearly, she has more of a name than just C, but I do like to keep ALL THE THINGS very vague.) C is adorable. She’s in Thing 2’s preschool class, and she’s also our neighbor. Plus, her mom teaches with me at the little private school, where I work. C likes little boys to behave politely, and she’s never afraid to put her hand on Thing 2’s arm and remind him, “Remember, we’re not going to get wild and crazy today, Thing 2.”
Last Friday, when I picked Thing 2 up from preschool, he and C were out on the playground, eating snow together. It’s every mother’s dream, people! You send them to school, and they eat the snow that forty other children have trudged through, in THEIR dirty snow boots. Of course I snapped their picture, so that I could send it to C’s sweet mom and say, “Your daughter convinced my son to eat snow off the playground.” Because… you know… it couldn’t POSSIBLY have been MY CHILD’S idea to eat the dirty snow.
They were both smart enough to quit their snack when I stooped down in front of them with my iPhone. There is no photographic evidence that they gobbling up the snowdrifts.
Thing 2 replied, “Well, C said we had to play something NICE, so we were being otters.”
“Yes. Otters. Because otters are nice. But do you know what, Mom? I didn’t tell C that I pretended that MY otter had great big, mean fangs.”
Oh… my, Mr. Otter! What big teeth you have! All the better to eat dirty snow with!