Tiny Coconuts

N's been having an increase in separation anxiety at preschool lately. (Sensitive to the upcoming transition to kindergarten? I dunno.) A month or so ago, faced with a crying little boy on the other side of the preschool fence who wanted "just one more hug and kiss, Mommy," I suggested that he look down on the ground and pick up a pebble by his feet, and that would be his special "Mommy rock" that he could keep in his pocket and touch whenever he got sad. He loved the idea, though he took it a bit further: at the end of the day, he had a pocket BURSTING with little "Mommy rocks" that he presented to me with much fanfare.

Fast forward to last week, when he arrives home (Baroy picked him up) and announces, "I found something really special for you today, Mommy! Close your eyes!"

I comply, of course.

"Ta dah!" he says, as I hear a clattering onto the table in front of me. "Look, Mommy! Tiny coconuts! Tiny coconuts for you!"

[Official disclaimer: My children do not read my blog. No one in 'real life' calls me Tiny Coconut except for the brother-in-law who gave me the nickname, and he generally calls me TC. Thus, there is no reason for N to have called them tiny coconuts instead of baby coconuts, or little coconuts, or something like that. But he called them tiny. And has since brought me home another handful of them each and every day. It's all very funny, and a little bit spooky, too.]