I was busy doing things moms do when not attending the immediate needs of their children, (Yeah, I was totally on the internet.) when Jane ran into the room…

Me: “What is that?”
Jane: “It’s a knife.”
Me: “A wood knife?”
Jane: “No. A KNIFE!”
Me: “Oh- go play with your sisters with it then.”

Then Jane took her “knife”(which looked an awful lot like a piece of kindling) and ran off making her gun noise, (which sounds an awful lot like a chicken) to find her sisters and I turned back to what I was doing.

Then I stopped, looked around in time to see her heels disappear up the stairs after her sisters thinking, I didn’t really…

…No, I did.

I did just say what I thought I said…

For a moment I was almost sucked into the guilty mom trap. After all, I basically just told my two year old to go play with knives- not my best parenting moment.

Then I listened to Jane’s strange chicken/gun/knife noises mixed with the happy squeals of three sisters at play and mentally shrugged. There were no actual sharp objects in play, the girls were happily (and imaginatively) playing and I had a bit of time all to myself in the middle of a lazy summer afternoon, life was good.

Unorthodox perhaps, but good!