(This post is not going to contain excess amounts of ranting about the mothers who allowed their 5-year-olds to take Margaret’s ball and run away with it even when she was crying “I want my ball back.” Because I’m not disgusted with them or anything. She and I learned an important lesson about sharing today, and it was don’t, or you won’t get the thing back. Humph.)*
Before this happened, though, Margaret was having a grand old time with her ball, chasing it all over the playground and letting it go down the slides if it wanted. And some of the time it went UP the slides too, as I explained that balls are exempt from the social contract.
Ellie was impressed.
And, you know, generally smiley, because that’s just the way she is.
*For the curious, I got her ball back, but I was asking for it, since I didn’t feel like chasing down a pack of feral kindergarteners and wrestling it away. After polite requests failed, I used the drill sergeant voice** and that got results. And the attention of the mothers, who said that they were just playing with it, not doing any harm EXCEPT MAKING MY TWO-YEAR-OLD CRY. Not that I’m bitter.
** You know, the one that sounds like Granny and makes one feel ghostly fingers pinching one’s chin.