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.”

“Huh.”

“I don’t even know what a chatterbox is!”

“Hmm.”

“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.”

“Cheese?”

“Chatter. The yellow kind,” Piper clarified. “I like parmesan.”