The other day Henry had a friend over, which means he got to oversee construction on his latest block/Lego creation while I got to sit in the next room and pretend to work. While I read blogs and told myself I had a deadline, I gradually became aware that I wasn't holding my ears shut from the child-manufactured racket. Instead of crashing and shouting, there was giggling. Quiet, conspiratorial giggling. I was afraid.
In this situation, some parents might poke their heads in to see what was going on, but me, I can't say I really wanted to have that image--whatever it was--seared into my memory. So I asked. And Henry, my innocent truth-telling five-year-old, he told me. "We're licking our feet," he said.
I think it's indicative of how low my standards of acceptable behavior have fallen when I say that I answered, "Your own, or each other's?" When he said they were licking their own feet, I had to think about it for a minute before deciding that that was gross.
I could hear their little minds whirring (each other's feet—now there's an idea), so I lured them to me with the promise of Oreos.
Oreos: More Delicious Than Your Friend's Foot! I should have been an ad copywriter.