Yesterday was our second actual warm-ish, sunny day in months, when the kids were able to play outside after school. It's hard to say no after this interminable winter. So RC is happily digging up rocks in the sand and HRH is engaged in The Pushing Game with his classmate, Timmy, in the school playground.
The Pushing Game (for those of you who are female and/or only have daughters) involves running full bore across the grass and slamming into your friend with sufficient force to knock him down. Apparently, it's a blast. So after seven or eight times of Timmy's mother and me admonishing them to slow down and be careful, we simply gave up. Boys truly will be boys and besides, the grass is like a sponge from all the melting snow and rain.
While we're chatting, we take note a particularly brutal (but clean) hit that lands HRH on the ground with his elbow under him in an unnatural way. We head over to survey the damage. HRH is stoic and doesn't cry but RC witnesses this interchange from his vantage point in the sand. He runs over and with a rock (a stone actually, about half the size of a brick) and launches it, connecting with Timmy's shoulder. "Don't you knock over my big brother," he yells!
Thankfully, both HRH and Timmy were fine and Timmy's mom understands the nature of little boys. No harm, no foul.
Not surprisingly, Andy regaled his entire office with this tale, with all of the men and most of the women congratulating RC on his loyalty and protective insticts. Tonight's dinnertime discussion centered around clean hits and no weaponry.
A hard concept for an an almost three year old. And for a mommy.
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