Our laundry room is directly adjacent to the playroom... that hardly ever gets used unless friends come over -- my kids thankfully prefer our Art & Science room to the toys. (They also prefer watching shows to a myriad of other things, so don;t think I'm trying to brag or anything).
But today, the proximity of play-to-laundry-room provided a conversation I really wanted to document.
Between two three year olds....
A: Hey Zoë-bug, do you want to play dress ups? (She's clad in an awful peptoAbysmal pink number I caved and got for Z for her birthday last year.) You want to be a princess?
Z: No, I be Spider-man!
A: You don't want to be a princess?
Z: No, I be SpiderMan. He fight bad guys.
A: SpiderMan is a bad guy?
Z: No he shoot webs. He fight bad guys.... Oh I help baby crying.
A: Well I'm a special Aurora. I have a bow.
Moments pass. And then Z's friend, points to the built in chest muscles of Z's Spiderman suit.
A: You have boobs.
I interject, "They're called pecs... they're chest muscles."
Z: I have pecs.
A: I have pec muscles too.
Z: No you don't have pecs.
A looks down, realizing there there is nothing resembling pecs or boobs on her outfit.
A: Well I have muscles, but not pec muscles. (Flexes her biceps). But I have muscles without pec muscles.
They both seemed to think this was a fair assessment and SpiderMan and Aurora lived (somewhat) happily ever after (well, at least through the playdate).
