MyThreeDaughters

It’s 10:17 p.m., and I know all too well where my child is. Or one of them.
Elizabeth (3 and a half) has been downstairs, way past her bedtime, reporting that upstairs consists of nothing but a bed of horrors.
Seems she’s got an upset stomach.
And there’s some kind of wound on her leg.
Her bedroom is too hot, and she saw lightning outside, which further exacerbated whatever’s wrong with her leg.
And…”What’s Daddy watching on TV?”
My patient wife, after getting her some milk, which of course probably put a continued pounding on whatever’s wrong with her leg (that thing’s more pulpy than Tiger Woods’ knee), finally laid down the law:
Elizabeth, Your performance is…I think your gig is up.
And now Elizabeth is upstairs. And now, we just saw a lightning flash and heard thunder.
And guess who is scared of thunder?
No, no, not me. I’m tough.
Elizabeth.
“She’s going to have to sleep in our room, isn’t she?” my patient wife just said.
Mm, hmm, I grunted.