Of all my kids, my favorite to talk to is a young child named "D". (Disclaimer: I will never share a child's real name with you, for their privacy.)
D has a great imagination. He can talk for literally hours. It's so entertaining to listen to this four year old talk.
We were swinging on the swings. The heat wave had just broken and it was a Friday. Clouds were gathering overhead and electricity was in the air. The kids could feel it. They were excited.
D is the kid who will grow up to be either insanely brilliant, or just insane. Little girls were running past him and shouted to each one as they passed "Hey! Want to come over to my house and have a sleepover with me?!"
"D, your girlfriend isn't really going to like that," I said. D's girlfriend wasn't there today. And we all know how unstable relationships are with toddlers.
"Yes, she'll like it! It will make her happy!" We swung for a little while longer, and as the parents came to pick their kids up, less little girls ran past for D to yell at.
"Hey! Miss LARA!!!! Would YOU like to come over to my house and have a sleepover?"
"Nope! Can't do that, D."
"Not only would your girlfriend not like it, your mom wouldn't like that either. We'll have to do something else."
"No, my mom would like it, she'd.... awwww fine...."
"So what else are we going to do?"
"We can play games and you can have dinner with me!"
"That sounds nice, what games!"
"We can play race games!"
"How fun. You're a great runner. What are we having for dinner?"
"Well, we'll have leftovers..."
"We're not having leftovers, D. I'm sorry. If you're inviting me to dinner, you have to make something nice. So what are we having?"
"Leftovers? I can make leftovers."
"I told you no! I'm not coming over if we're having leftovers! What are we having?"
"I have something nice in my fridge maybe, I'll ask my mom what we're making."
"So you're coming over? Can I ask my mom?"
"Sorry D, my husband is going to be missing me. I need to go home and make him dinner."
And then he hung his head and got off the swing, and dragging his feet, he walked away.