Imagine, if you will, a (semi) young mother arriving to pick up her 3 year old daughter after a grueling night at work. She is exhausted, having gotten only 2 hours sleep in the last 24. Frazzled and wishing for nothing more than a hot shower and a quiet day (and, if she is really honest, a long nap), the mother asks her little girl to get in the car so they can go home.
Half an hour later, after much argument, the mother forcibly puts her child in the car seat. After another few minutes of struggle, the child is safely strapped in and the car slowly pulls out of the driveway to begin the 20 minute drive home. The mother begins to relax, thinking about the day ahead. Soon a little voice pops out of the backseat.
Little Sprout: Mom? Mom? Mommy? Hey....Mom?
Barefoot Gardener: *sighs* Yes, dear?
BG: Yes, baby?
LS: Ummmmmm, Mom?
BG: *grits teeth and counts to ten* Yeees?!
LS: Um, I want, can I have....Um I want some 'cakes
BG: Hunh? You want potato cakes? *thinks quietly for a second* Yeah, we can do that.
LS: Oh, really? Oh, fanks Mom. I get 'cakes!
BG: Yup. K, Mommy is going to listen to music now.
(five seconds later)
LS: Mom? Mom? Mommy?
BG: *turns down radio and counts to ten.....again* Yes, dear?
LS: I want ice cweam.
BG: No, baby, it's too early for ice cream.
BG: No, baby.
BG: NO. Now stop asking mommy about that. We are going to stop and get you potato cakes, and that is all. Then we are going home.
(turns radio back up)
LS: Mom? Mom? Mommy?
BG: *heavy sigh this time* Yes, darling. What do you want now?
(turns down radio)
LS: I want miwk.....and 'cakes....and ice cweam.
BG: I know, baby. We will stop and get potato cakes, then you can have milk when we get home.
LS: Oh. OK, mommy.......... .......... Mom? Mommy? I need some miwk.
(conversation continues this way for the next 18 minutes)
LS: FWENCH FWIES!!!!
BG: No, baby, they don't have french fries right now. We are getting potato cakes, remember? Then you are going to eat them at home with your milk.
LS: I want fwench fwies and ice cweam!
BG: *bangs head repeatedly against steering wheel and prays for patience*
(ten minutes later, potato cakes have been purchased and are being served to Little Sprout on one of her favorite plates with a tall glass of milk. Mommy is finally settling down to check her email and make a few phone calls. Little Sprout wanders into the room)
LS: Mom? Mommy? Mom?
BG: *grits teeth and growls a little* WHAT, baby.
LS: I don't want my 'cakes...heaw, YOU eat 'em. I want ice cweam.