Mr. Sandman

When Mikie was Hannah's age, it seemed like he was trying to bring home the playground one shoeful at a time. Kind of like Tim Robbins in "The Shawshank Redemption", except not as subtle.

Granted, that was when he was a toddler. Now, he's big. He's in school. He's reading. He runs around and pretends to be Luke Skywalker or Anakin, or whatever other action figure comes into his head.

Or so I thought. He came inside to help me drop Hannah off at daycare. For everyone who doesn't have young children, our daycare, like others we've been at, requires you to take off your shoes in the toddler room (being that infants and toddlers like to crawl and occasionally lick the floor). As we were putting our shoes back on to leave, Mikie started the following conversation:

Mikie: "Why is there always sand in my shoes?"

Mom: sarcastically "Maybe because you like to roll in the sand."

Mikie: seriously "Or maybe because I buried my sneakers yesterday."

Are you kidding me? How does one take off their shoes and bury them at recess without one of the many teachers and aides noticing?

Fast-forward eight hours later. After picking Mikie up from school, I am helping to buckle him in the car. I notice an immense amount of sand in his ear. He truly looked like the victim of a craft project gone awry: the kind where you spray glue on the page and then sprinkle sane over top. Except someone used his ear instead of paper. I can't help it, I have to ask:

Mom: "Mikie, how did you get so much sand in your ears?"

Mikie: "Because I buried myself in the sandbox."

Mom: "What? You buried yourself in the sandbox!?!"

Mikie: "Except my shoes."

Okay, because that makes it better. Well, my kid suffocated on sand, but at least his shoes are clean. . .

Mom: "Including your head?"

Mikie: "Well, not my face."

So, clearly with age does not come maturity. Or does it? At least he recognized that he shouldn't cover his face with sand.

Love, The Trahans