When I picked Piper up from preschool this afternoon she was in a fit of tears because a playmate had called her a name. It was too awful to repeat, she said, so she just cried on my shoulder and snotted up my sleeve a bit. Once we got to the car, the truth came out.
“Molly called me a chatterbox!”
“Oh,” I said. I’ve learned the hard way just to listen.
“She said I don’t let anyone else talk at lunch.”
“I don’t even know what a chatterbox is!”
“Mom, do you think I’m a chatterbox?”
“I think you’re wonderful, Piper.”
“Thank you, Mommy. I don’t even like that kind of cheese.”
“Chatter. The yellow kind,” Piper clarified. “I like parmesan.”