the best pinecone

It's the last day of the school week and all the kids are tired.  G and his friend (I'll call him Joshua) are rolling down the hill after class lets out.  They find pinecones and roll those down.  After a long twenty minutes of happy playing and successful sharing, trading and taking turns, there is a moment when they both reach for the same pinecone.  It's a particularly nice one, very rich brown and intact compared with the other greyish, tattering pinecones.  Neither or them is practiced at sharing but they are both working on it.  Joshua grabs it first.  G looks upset.  Joshua looks equally grumpy.  Joshua haltingly holds out the pinecone in his hand for G to take but as soon as it's in G's hand Joshua starts wailing.  Joshua's dad and I try in vain to help prompt compromises and soothe overtired, overexerted 4 year old friends.  No other pinecones will do for either boy.    

In the end each of us carries a crying boy across the playground and down the sidewalk to the parking lot.  G begins to quiet a few times, but hears Joshua and starts again.  I ask if he wants to say goodbye to Joshua and he says no.  We arrive at the car and he calms down a bit, asking for a hug.  I pick him up and hug him and ask him if he's sad because Joshua was upset.  He tells me: G and Joshua sad.  (This is big!  He isn't usually able to talk about more than one person's feelings at a time)  I buckle him in his seat and he says: Show Daddy G and Joshua sad.  Sometimes G wants to show Daddy an art project or other preschool treasure when he gets home.  The idea of telling his dad about something important that happened to him, especially involving feelings... what a breakthrough!

I spend the entire car ride home fantasizing about G telling me stories of what he did at school today, how his friends feel about white and red striped race cars, how he came to be under a beanbag when a classmate sat on top of it (I heard that one from his teacher who thought it was funny and was concerned I might wonder how he got a scratch on  his forehead.)

We get home and G runs into the house, still intent on telling his important news to his dad.  I am thrilled.  G and Joshua sad.  Roll down hill, throw pinecones down hill.  I wait as he talks, then fill in the blanks.  Then I remark to my husband how lucky he is, to actually be hearing news about what happened at school from G, and that it's bigger news than just what flavor muffin they ate today.  We all beam at eachother for a moment before G starts begging to play computer games.