Buttons

Inspired by Aunty Jenny's tale about tiger taming, I thought I'd share this conversation between Mister and Bama.

Nana gave us a 10 week class at a hoity-toity kids' club here ($3,000 membership, class fees on top; we are not paying that and neither did Nana). The class is AWESOME. It's a gym class. Oh yes, for two-year-olds. Today, after reading a book about machines that dig and move dirt, they stretched and did warm-ups before getting hoops to use as steering wheels and drive around the room. The room, for those who are unused to the world of toddlers, is wall to wall foamy soft stuff for jumping, climbing, and rolling around on. 

They drove up stairs, through a tunnel, up a mountain (ramp), through another slide before moving on to rolling on an exercise ball (the teacher held their legs) to pick up little balls from inside a bin. Next, they filled a foam thing with balls and were dump trucks, dumping out the balls. Then they were airplanes, jumping from a cube onto a parachute. Last, bubble-extravaganza with these amazing bubbles that cling and don't burst unless you poke them. They are strong little suckers. Yes, video exists. 

Anyway.

I had Pickle strapped to me, and had to nurse him during class, so another mama helped Bama out along with her own daughter. She's really nice. Mister was having his usual evening conversation with Bama about her day and with whom she played:

There was Anabel and her mama … um, I don't know her name (looking up at the ceiling, thinking) … um … , I think I'll call her … (swivels head to look directly into Mister's eyes) Buttons.

Oh, how I love that girl. 

I'm having a difficult time not referring to the mama as Buttons. I hope she won't mind.

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