We just had to mediate an argument. We first knew of it with the shout, Mama, Mama! He hit me! The lovely husband went to the bottom of the steps to call up to the alleged victim and the alleged perpetrator. "Was it an accident or on purpose?" He asked. I don't know, she lamented. But he hit me. So the lovely husband called the name of the alleged perpetrator. Was it an accident or on purpose? An accident, he answered (of course). Here's what happened: he took off his underpants. She said, don't take off your underpants! He said something along the lines of: but I wanted to! So she swiped them. She wanted to take them to me, to show me had had taken off his underpants. She swiped his unders, he swiped at her.
Now, to the question: why was he almost naked? I don't know. They had both been dressed at breakfast. In fact, the boy had boasted at breakfast that he had on not one pair of unders, but two: Spiderman and tiger unders. He even showed me. But my girl, and according to his mom, that boy - they both enjoy the naked time. So they must have decided they were overly wardrobed when they went upstairs to play.
Want to know something? I don't care. At all. And luckily I know his mom wouldn't care, either.
He's four-and-a-bit and she's a-bit-until-four and neither of them is concerned at all about boy pieces and girl parts. They're perfect little hedonists, each concerned with their own comfort. So now they're done arguing, each wearing one garment apiece, and are chasing themselves in circles through our kitchen-dining room-living room-foyer-hallway-kitchen. They're a clockwise whir of Spiderman tushie and butterfly tushie and squeals and boundless preschooler energy slowly but surely being depleted.
Just the way we like it.
And now they're going counter-clockwise.
Today is the first day of NaBloPoMo. What does this mean for you? Even more frequent posting of my irreverent drivel. But you're the one who keeps coming back to read it, aren't you? So happy NaBloPoMo to you!