Genetic Condition: Need to Have Last Word

This morning on the way to school, Lu and I were arguing strenuously about what season it was. She insisted it was fall because some of the trees have leaves and some don't (I didn't have the energy to explain deciduous, semi-deciduous and evergreen trees in temperate climates).

"Babe, it's winter."
"Nuh uh."
"Uh huh."
"Nuh uh."
"Ask Ms. Robinson, she will tell you it's winter."
"No, she won't."
"I know: did the groundhog see his shadow?"
"And what does that mean?"
"Six more years of winter."
"See, winter. Wait, not six more years. Six more weeks."
"No, six more YEARS!!! Six more years, Mom."

As I drove away, I shouted out the window, "Bye, Lu, I love you. Six more weeks!" From my rearview mirror, I could see her yelling "SIX MORE YEARS."