"Of course there are, Oliver." My memory tracks through all the possible playground places with ball pits that he might have in mind. "Which way do we go to get to them? If I drive in a car, you'll have to show me how to get there." He slides the other leg in. "I'm not sure what you are thinking about," I probe, pulling his shirt over his head. "You'll have to help me imagine it." "Mommy," he croons, "I need to go to a ball if I'm a prince!"
Oh, that kind of ball! Why ever did I not imagine that kind of ball? He's nearly four, after all! I need to hear more of this tiny boy's desire but I begin to search my mind's files for fairy tales or movies or anything that might give me a clue as to where this is coming from. Nothing. I can't figure it out. So I ask, "Why do you want to go to a ball? What will you do there?" He smooths his "hockey guy" on the front of his pyjama top. "Pictures," he states, matter-of-factly. "Pictures?" "Yeah, you know, pictures of marrying." Ah, wedding photos. Wow. I'm taken off guard but I smile. "Who are you going to marry, my boy?" He grins and pokes his finger into my arm, "I'm going to marry you!" Emily enters the scene and catches onto the discourse quickly. Immediately, she shares her two cents, "You can't marry Mommy, she's already married to daddy." A few seconds passes and my two little ones stare blankly at each other. She finishes, "But you can marry me." He sighs, "Oh, okay, I'll marry you." Oliver turns back to me, all jammied, and shrugs. "Mommy, you can just drop us off at the ball then." My days of chauffeuring have begun :)