Spitting Fire

The other day the girls and I were dining at my parents' and the conversation ranged from funny things kids say to the number of years they'd lived in the three houses of their marriage.

At one point my dad asked me, "Do you remember what you said when we told you we were selling the house?"

I shook my head.

He smiled and said forcefully, imitating a younger me, "'You can't sell this house! This is MY house!'"

I laughed, "That's hilarious! Had I even seen the house on Deveron Road at that point yet?"

"Seen the house? You didn't say that when we were moving TO Deveron Road, you said that when we were moving FROM Deveron Road, 15 years later."

I stopped laughing. It had been funny imagining me saying that as a nine-year old person. It was not quite so funny imagining me saying that as a 23 year old person...who was working full time as a teacher and living in her own apartment while making that vehement statement and claim to her parents. Yikes.

So I had no doubt today where Evelyn inherited her impulse to make the following reply today when I told the girls we'd be taking naps to make up for a few late nights in a row:

(Pointing her finger at me) "NO WAY! I am NOT taking a nap. Naps are for BABIES, and I am NOT TAKING ONE. That is NOT RIGHT." She then put on the first pair of shoes she could find (snow boots), walked out the back door and slammed it behind her.

So, while "rest time" WAS enforced and the girls spent 1 1/2 hours in their rooms, it was proudly reported to me that no sleeping took place. (And, in her defense, our passionate eldest daughter made that report while giving me a whopper of a hug.)

Trying right now to imagine a 23-year old Evelyn...