Contrasting preoccupations

The boys were having a game on the way home from the food co-op just now:

The Oyster: This is a ghost train, and I'm a vampire, and I'm going to chop off your head at midnight!

The Feaster: I'm pretenting to be a toy toothbrush with a gun!

I do heartily wish they'd put a sock in the whole violence schtick.

"Play is a processing mechanism. Play is a processing mechanism," I say to myself. (Sometimes it helps.)