Who knew there were upsides to a daughter who can wring more vowels out of an "I'm not" than Eliza Doolittle managed at the beginning of Pygmalion?
I was all set to suspend work on a new scarf and take my youngest shoe shopping. (Her feet do not stop growing just because it's summer.) She still had a dishwasher to empty and was looking in the top rack for something when I heard a creak and looked up. There she was, leaning over the top rack and putting a little too much weight on it. I simply asked her to not lean on it. (My temper is not exactly even, but this time I really did request it nicely.) "I'm not!" This had many more syllables than two somehow. We give no warnings for consequences due to snotty responses anymore. Shoe shopping postponed for bad behavior. And I get to work more on my felting.