1.
Frances, Ted, and I were reading bedtime stories. Frances starting jumping on the bed, and then she landed on my belly in a move known as a “knee drop” in professional wrestling. Frances has done this before, and I have asked her to stop, as it is unpleasant. I asked her yet again to please desist. She apologized and settled down for another story.
A few minutes later, she starting jumping again, and advancing in the direction of my prone form. I said, “Frances, if you bounce on me one more time, I am going to freak out.”
She replied, “I’m not bouncing on you. I am bouncing toward you.”
Ted and I are pretty sure that she’s going to be a lawyer when she grows up.
2.
Ted and I have been trying to regain some control over a nighttime routine that has, of late, been stretching into the wee hours of the morning. So, when it’s bedtime, Frances goes in the crib and stays there. Frances has a substantial and sophisticated arsenal of requests designed to get her out of bed again. Last night, she began by telling me that she needed a drink of water. I said, “Sure, I’ll bring you a cup of water.”
She said, “No! I want to get it!” and started to weep when this demand was denied.
I brought her a cup of water, and said, “Here’s your drink of water.”
Still sobbing, she said, “I’m too cry-y to drink it.”
I said, “OK. You don’t have to drink it. I’ll just take it back to the bathroom.”
The tears stopped, and she said in a calm and persuasive voice, “Well, you could just wait until I’m done crying.”
“All right,” I replied, “You have until the count of three to stop crying.”
She considered for a moment before asking, “How about ten?”
Now I’m thinking that maybe she’ll be an actor on a show about lawyers.