The 8 year old is perceptive.
Perceptive is probably the wrong word.
She is a Jedi.
I can’t get crap past her.
She moves items around the house with only her mind.
It’s freaky.
Yesterday she got sick.
Like really sick.
She called me crying asking when I was getting home.
She needed her daddy.
“Daddyyyy.  I feel sooooo sick.  I needed yooooouuuu.  When are you coming home?”
Those 13 words we littered with moans, tears, snot, sighs, wailing, and gnashing of teeth

“Baby.  I’m so sad you are sick.  Daddy is on his way home.  Probably like 15 more minutes ok?”

And like a storm in Oklahoma, she completely transformed the atmosphere of our conversation in a fraction of a second.
No moans, no tears, no snot, no sighs, no wailing, and no gnashing of teeth.
It was all gone.

“Daddy.  15 minutes means 45 minutes.  You are just like your football games.  When you say 15 minutes, I know you have to call time outs and get out of bounds and wait for the timer to start and stuff.  So can you just say 45 minutes instead of 15?”


8 year old – 1
Dad in his 30’s – 0

Game Set Match.