I’m as much into “imaginative play” as the next person. Sometimes, it can get a little carried away, though.

The other day I stuck my head in to see why C was taking so long in the bathroom. “Everything okay?”

He looked at me, appearing to be on the verge of tears, “Oh no!”

I’ve been doing this for a little while now, so this didn’t upset me. “What’s wrong?”

“We’re too late! We’re too late!”

“Too late for…”

“Momma! We’re too late! Momma’s gone! She’s gone!”

“Oh yeah?”

“You don’t understaa-aand! We’re too late!”

He was doing a pretty good job wailing. I stepped back out of the bathroom and motioned to J. She was doing dishes in the kitchen, but at my insistent waving she came over. With much gesturing and pantomime, I also convinced her of the need for quiet. She obligingly tip-toed over. Once there, I motioned for her to wait and then I called to the snuffling potty boy. “What’s wrong?”

“We’re too late,” he wailed. “Too late! Momma’s gone! Momma’s – ” she stuck her head into the bathroom and smiled.

He almost fell off the potty in surprise, and then he started laughing.

“That’s so silly,” he said. “So silly.”

Yes. Yes it was.