Welcome back for another installment in the series we’ll call, “Shit I Never Saw Coming As A Mom.”
When my oldest son was in kindergarten, there was this kid who would constantly lick my kid.
That’s right, you heard me: he licked him. Not once, not twice. He licked him daily for months.
My son would be sitting at his desk, minding his own business, and this yay-hoo would toodle on past, then swing around really fast, bend down, and lick my son’s hand.
He’d lick his face if he got close enough.
He’d lick my son’s desk if he couldn’t reach him for whatever reason.
You know how some things happen in our lives and they’ll sort-of define that era for you, in your memories?
Like you might say, “Oh that was in my saving-money-by-cutting-my-own-hair phase,” or, “That was during my vegetarian* period.”
In our family we refer to my son’s early elementary school years as, “when that kid would lick you.”
It was a period of time that went on way longer than it should have.
