Writing Wrongs

March 16, 2007

My kids collect rocks, lots and lots of rocks. In front of Kyraís daycare, they use rocks as landscaping, which is probably the easiest way to go. Itís a veritable rock wonderland for my kids.

They find all kinds of good stuff: heart shaped rocks, speckled rocks, moon/space rocks (or so they tell me), lava. You name, my kids have found it. Every once in a while, I have to empty my car of extraneous rocks, since it really kills my gas mileage.

Sometimes, they find something kind of cool. The other day, Andrew found an actual geode. He was pretty proud. As he told me, ďIím good at finding valuable stuff in public places.Ē

This isnít entirely untrue. When he was a smaller, he had a knack for digging up treasures in the playground, and not just rocks, either, but actual toys that had long ago lost their owners. We called him ďthe detectiveĒ for a while.

In other playground news: yesterday, one of Kyraís little friends wasnít watching where she was going on the playground and dumped a big pail of mud in Kyraís hood and down the back of her coat. It was truly an accident, not a mean-spirited attack. Still, Iím a little unclear about the logistics of how it happened.

Of course, I washed all her winter stuff last night. (Spring was just teasing up; itís cold again.) I placed the pink (somewhat dingy pink) winter jacket, mittens, and her Hello Kitty hat in the washing machine.

Then I had a thought. I stuck my hand in, felt around in the winter jacketís little pocket.

And pulled out a rock.

Charity Tahmaseb wrote at 9:58 a.m.

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