A mournful little girl, who had been waiting patiently all afternoon for her siblings to return from school, found me in the kitchen with my hands full of raw hamburger and my mind in a far off place planning for the evening activities that would be pulling us in every direction.
She tugged at my pants and made those childish, whiny, noises that only the most skilled manipulators ever master. And of course, as a skilled tuner-out-of-all-things-whiny, I hardly realized she was talking to me.
"Maaaaaaamum. Kate won't plaaaaaayyyy with meeeeee. She is sooooooo mean, I just want to plaaaaayyyy stuffed animals with her. But she won't stop reading!"
Wail. Boo-hoo. Etc. etc.
My attention is now partially gotten and I'm ready to fix this problem as I do many others. I yell into the living room at the culprit that is turning my precious baby into a whiny monster.
"KATE! Stop reading and play with your sister!" Wait, what?
