I recently had a conversation with my daughter. We were sitting outside together on the porch after I mowed the lawn this evening. We were reading books and she decided to throw hers off the porch and into the grass.
<Evelina> Daddy, get the book.
<Me> You get the book.
<Evelina> No, daddy, step on the grass.
<Me> Is it okay if daddy steps on the grass?
<Me> Is it okay if you step on the grass?
<Evelina> No, daddy, you step on the grass!
<Me> Why can't you step on the grass?
<Evelina> You step on the grass daddy!
<Me> Don't dodge he question Evelina.
<Evelina> Don't tell me to answer the question daddy!
... pause ...
<Evelina> Daddy, get the book!
I wish I were making this up. My 26 month old drives me crazy all the time. She denied it at dinner, though.
<Me> Evelina, you're psycho.
<Evelina> No I'm not psycho, daddy, I'm a clown.
In other news, my five month old can crawl. His preferred mode of transportation, however, is rolling like a log.