It was still early on Saturday morning, before breakfast. I was getting Sadie out of her pajamas.
“Papa, I want baby soup," she says, in her sweet voice.
“Huh...wha-a-a-t?" I reply.
Her face lights up. She remembers what we've told her so many times. Ask nicely. Say please. In an even sweeter voice she says, "I want baby soup, please. May. I. Baby soup. Please?"
That's disturbing, I’m saying to myself. "That's ... eh ... not nice, Sadie. Really not nice.” I’m now trying to change the subject. “Now let's put on pants, okay? Do you like these?"
Suddenly she’s screaming. ”I want baby soup! Baby soup!” Then, inevitably, “I want daddy!"
"Sure, let’s ask daddy. See if he'll get you baby soup." As I’m about to call Daddy, her four-year old brother Levi walks into the room.
"Actually, she wants to wear a bathing suit, Papa.” Levi uses actually in the sense of “let me correct you”.
"Ye-e-es, ba-a-by sou-ou-oup,” Sadie sobs.
I realize my mistake. With obvious relief I repeat, "A bathing suit! Thanks, Levi."
"Actually, it's too cold for a bathing suit, Papa. And she's going to daycare."
"Actually, Levi, it’s Saturday, so she’s not going to daycare. But it is too cold. Sorry, Sadie, no bathing suit today."
“But I want BABY SOUP!"