I have been thinking a lot about the Moses Law — the one that allows people to safely leave small children at firestations, as opposed to leaving them in dumpsters or wherever. This law is really meant for infants. And would not work for us anyhow because Lucy knows her address and could probably give could perfect directions from our neighborhood firestation.
Here is an abbreviated list of the various sources of about 115 fits thrown between 7 and 9:16 (and top reasons Lu almost went to the firestation tonight):
Barbecue. "NO, I WANT SOMETHING ELSE. SOMETHING ELSE, NOT THAT."
Cole slaw. "I DON'T WANT SOME OF THAT. IT'S REALLY, REALLY YUCKY. I WANT A POPSICLE."
Waiting. "I DON'T WANT TO WAIT UNTIL YOU'RE DONE EATING. THAT'S NOT A GOOD IDEA AT ALL. I WANT A POPSICLE NOW."
A fork. More specifically, a popsicle that was cut with a fork instead of a knife. "NO, DAD, PUT IT BACK TOGETHER, PUT IT BACK TOGETHER." Granddad laughed and said he'd like to see how Jason was going to pull that off.
Consequences. Jason explained very calmly that if she kept drinking the bathwater she'd have to get out and skip TV. She screamed, "DAD IS SCREAMING AT ME. DAD, STOP BOSSING ME AROUND."
Shows with "town" in the title. After asking to watch "Higglytown Heroes," she responded to the start of the show with "NO, LAZYTOWN, I SAID LAZYTOWN!!!"
Poor kid. For all my firestation talk, I knew she was tired. She was asleep within less than a minute of lying down. I stroked her hand for about 30 seconds before it went slack. Then I cuddled up with her for a few minutes, enjoying the nicest she'd been to me all day.