My two year old asked while pulling up to the drive-thru window, “Mommy, can Chloe have a tim-bit?” in the sweetest voice imaginable. Exactly the opposite of the voice she had used four minutes earlier at the grocery store to tell a little boy, a stranger who was a head taller than she is, “I don’t like you,” before staring at him angrily and storming off.

Still, referring to herself in the third person is tough to resist.

“Not today,” I explained, “tim-bits are treats for special occasions.”

“Pweeze Mommy, Pweeze! I give you three bucks….for your pocket.”