I bought Logan a geode. The exeterior is bland and unexciting - even a little ugly. The inside, if you're lucky, is beautiful and sparkling.
We placed the round rock in an old sock and whacked it with a hammer. I heard it break, felt it give under the weight of the swing. We pulled the remaining in tact half from the sock along with the smaller bits to reveal the sparking bits of crystal inside the hollowed stone. Logan was admiring his treasure when I decided to get all philosophical on him.
"You know," I began, "this geode is like sort of like a person. You can't tell what a person is really like from what they look like in the outside."
Logan seemed to think about my great wisdom. I continued to explain, "The way a person looks won't tell you if he's kind or funny. You won't know if she's smart or helpful."
He studied his geode. He looked at me.
"Mommy," he said, "You are much prettier on the outside than your intestines inside."