My little broken bird Sarah has an older brother Michael. I see more of Michael because preschoolers get mixed with schoolagers on a regular basis. Same blond hair, same gray eyes, same dysfunctional family.
Today, when I turned my back for 20 seconds, Michael and another boy decided to dump out the Legos, the Kinetics and the wooden blocks. They were probably working their way up to the Lincoln Logs, but I caught them. Now these are large sets. Large, large sets. The tubs they are stored in are 5 gallon containers. The boys are a little too young to really understand how to sort the toys back into their proper places so I enlisted the aid of a couple of the older kids to do that. They’re still a mess, but at least they aren’t on the floor.
Not long after that, the ice cream truck arrived. WooHoo, ice cream! Michael got Spiderman. He got Spiderman all over his shorts. All over his shirt. All over his face. All over the table. I looked at him and said, Michael, you are the king of messes today. He looked up very solemnly and said, “I’m sorry.”
I grabbed his sticky little face in my hands, pressed my forehead to his and said, “You know, the fact that you’re so cute is saving your life today.”
And in the Sarah update, I was talking to another kid tonight after bringing them inside to merge classes. Focused on my conversation, I felt a little hand grab mine. When I glanced down, there was Sarah looking up at my like ‘there you are, I was looking for you.’