You want to feel like a great mom?  Go the playground at toddler rush hour.  

Saturday, 12:30 p.m.  Lil Mil and her friend A are busy on the slide, so I take a seat in the shade, a few feet from a pair of moms.  I arrive mid-conversation, and this is what I hear:

Mom #1: “No, really.  For a four year old, she’s remarkable.”

Mom #2:  (with a dismissive laugh)  ”I mean, sure, I think my daughter is bright.  But it’s not like she’s gifted.  Trust me, she’s regular.  

Mom #1:  ”She has an incredible vocabulary for a four-year-old.”

Mom #2:  ”Yeah.  But drawing?  You know how some kids will tell you they’re gonna draw a rainbow and then they actually draw a rainbow?  She can’t even do that.”  

Today, 11:45 a.m.  Lil Mil and I are sitting side-by-side, scooping sand with our hands.  Nearby, a girl who looks about Lil Mil’s age is playing with a bucket and shovel.  Next to her is a giant bag of sand toys, each labeled with her name in all caps.  Her mother sits nearby, watching.  Lil Mil gets up and walks over to the little girl.  ”I want to play with the yellow one,” I hear her say.  I hurry over to admonish her for not saying please, although deep down I am proud of her for not just taking it.  She is learning.  She is trying.  I flash a smile at the other mom as I kneel down next to Lil Mil and say, “are you being sweet?”  My daughter looks and me, nods solemnly, and softly repeats her request:

“I wanna play with the yellow one.”  

“No!” the other little girl shouts, moving it out of Lil Mil’s reach.

“G, can she play with this one?” her mother asks, reaching into the giant bag for a rake that G has not yet touched.

“No!” G shouts, grabbing it from her mom.

The mom looks at Lil Mil.  ”I’m sorry, G doesn’t feel like sharing right now.  Check back in a few minutes, okay?”  The woman then flashes a smile at me, as though this makes perfect sense.  As though the fact that her 2-year-old “doesn’t feel like sharing” is all the explanation I need.