Sam was keeping me company last night as I was folding clothes in the bedroom. We chatted about this and that while I piled up towels and t-shirts and socks. At one point, I realized that my son was using a word repeatedly that I hadn’t heard him use before: “Mine.”
He would grab some clean jammies while I was trying to fold them and say, “Mine,” before throwing them on the floor. “This is not going to work,” I thought, for many reasons. It seemed as good a teachable moment as any for a 3 year old. I talked to him about sharing and how a nice word to use is “ours” to describe something that we work on together, like the laundry.
He nodded solemnly and said, “Ours.” I was pleased.
He then grabbed a pair of his recently folded Lightning McQueen big boy underpants, rolled them up in a ball, giggled, tossed them on my head, and said, “Ours.”
Lesson learned. Sigh.