Apparently, there was a huge discussion on the Kindergarten playground last week, during which it was decided that my #5 is not, had never been, and could never aspire to be, a monster. Ever. Case closed.
Though I was still reeling from the fact that the playground is now being used as court rather than a welcome space to get the wiggles out, I interrogated the child further. "Well darlin', can you tell Mumma why you're not a monster?"
Sobs shook his teensy tinsy lil body, and he burrowed his face in my neck. It took several minutes of back rubbing, soothing, murmurs of love and devotion, and promises of oreos to calm him enough so he could speak Still hiccuping from residual sobs, and sparkles of tears still clinging to his freakishly long, gorgeous lashes, he whispered something in my ear that I couldn't quite make out.
I soothed and snuggled and begged and pleaded until finally, the cute lil thing stood up on my couch, stomped his foot on the cushions, pointed his tiny finger in my face and shouted "YOU LIED! I can't be a monster because......... I DON'T HAVE A TAIL! Was I 'dopted? Do YOU have a tail Mumma? Where are the twinnies' tails? Can I see them? Are they furry tails or bald tails?"
Now really. What can you say to THAT? That's right. Shocked speechless by a five year old. I must be losing my touch.
photos by photobucket, of course