Playing after pre-school, Pablo wasn’t happy that I allowed a girl to be a Clone Trooper.
He shook his head, upset.
Pablo: Dad, next time you can’t tell Christine K. she can be Commander Bly.
She can’t be a Clone. She’s griril (sic), Dad.
Jefe: She just wanted to play with you guys. Who can she be?
Pablo: She can be Padme or Princess Leia. They’re gririls (sic).
I let Mama reinforce the “what women can be” speech when she got home, as she’s living proof. Mama is secret government agent.
Spring has sprung. Pre-school kids run wild in the park after class. Just boundless energy, no focus. The younger ones are literally growling and running at each like monsters. All you can do is stand back and let them air it all out.