Sunday, March 10, 2013
10:31 -- Sticky fingers...
"Do you have any projects?" I asked the two little hands already sifting through stuffed animals, a lunch bag, a Ziploc bag full of spare clothes, and his favorite chamois blanket. Reid looked up, flashing a mischievous glance, and continued rifling.
Instead of an item involving glue, construction paper, pipe cleaners, and/or googly eyes emerging, before me hung a string of silver Mardi Gras-like beads shining in the late-day sun that streamed through our white wood blinds. And, behind them, stood a wild-haired toddler now sporting a nervous grin.
"What are these, Reid? Did you get them at school?"
"They're beads," he offered; his eyes and smile conflicting.
"Are they yours?" I asked, confident I had cracked the case.
"No." he replied without skipping a beat.
(That was quick. And easy.)
"Well, whose are they then?"
"Mrs. Clark's," he answered and our deep brown eyes locked.
"Then Mrs. Clark should have them back. They aren't yours. And, when you take something that isn't yours it is called 'stealing.' Jesus says it isn't good to steal. It makes him sad."
"I'll write Mrs. Clark a note and take her beads back to the dress-up station next time I'm at school." he planned.
"I think that's a great idea," my heart leapt in response to his thoughtful solution.
"Can we put the necklace and note in a plastic bag?" he asked already moving toward the kitchen drawer containing plastics and foil.
"Sure. Mrs. Clark and the other boys and girls will be glad to have their beads back."
"They will," he confirmed as the silver necklace disappeared back into the red tote to be hand-delivered next week.
Hopefully, this case of 'sticky fingers' will be an isolated occurrance...