Just before Christmas, the kids and I made sugar cookies for our neighbours. I’d promised them that we’d go door-to-door and introduce ourselves on the chance there were some boys around five-year-old and maybe a little girl around two.
We had a fantastic time meeting and greeting and over sharing.
Because that’s what talkative little boys do. They over share.
This means everyone in our neighborhood now know Joseph’s mummy and daddy don’t live together, but that’s okay because his daddy lives next to his great grandma’s house in a little apartment. And he still comes over sometimes to mow the lawn and spend the night but his mummy and daddy are just going to be friends now instead of married. And by the way, his little sister hurt her hand on the coffee table, would they like to see the Band-Aid?
At which point, Elizabeth would hold up her hand solemnly.
I stood next to him, baring my teeth in a smile while trying to calmly say, “hush, darling” instead of slapping my hand over his mouth and dragging him away from the doorway.
The neighbours, of course, soaked up the gossip like a sponge, thanked us for the cookies, and promptly started waving brightly whenever they saw us.
Or maybe they were just glad I let my son live.
But it makes me wonder…
What’s he telling his teacher? She’s with him all day long. I’m sure she has to hear stories – some of which are mostly pieces of imagination with tiny seeds of fact.
Do you have little chatter boxes who let your secrets out?