The One With the Play-Doh

Had a conversation with Elder Son this afternoon that started out with us talking about Play-Doh and evolved into me apologizing for being an anxious mother.

I told Elder Son that I regret things I said and did when he and his brother were young. I didn't mention anything specific, I just referred to all the things in general.

"I don't remember any of that," he said.

He told me that he and Younger Son had recently had a similar conversation. They each told the other that they'd felt bad for the way they used to treat each other. But neither one remembered anything the other had done, only the things they'd done themselves.

It was a lovely and forgiving conversation that started with Play-Doh.

(Note: Apologies to you, reader. I jotted this down quickly just to remember it. It has no finesse or style. My intent is to revisit and flesh the story out better.)