MyThreeDaughters

Before we had kids, we used to go out to eat at least once a weekend, sometimes twice. That was fun.
We used to go see bands. That was fun.
We used to sit on the porch in the early evening and rock in chairs. That was fun.
One summer, we even pronounced The Summer of Fun, and it did turn out to be.
So the other day, after the 16-month-old has learned to say “no” and say it often, my wife said: “Tomorrow, I’m going to count how many times Rosebud says <i>No</i>.”
I said, “That sounds like fun,” but really what I meant was that it didn’t sound like much fun at all.
Wife says, “I think it would be.”
Rosebud continued about the house, saying “no” to just about everything for the next several minutes and my wife looked at me:
“Tell me that wouldn’t be FUN.”
I looked at her. It seemed hard to believe that fun had deteriorated from going out to eat downtown, going to see bands and hanging out on the porch to counting the times your daughter says “no.”
There could be only one response.
“No,” I said.