Hitting below the sash

The above picture represents a typical car ride on my days with the kids. I pick them up from school, and we crawl through rush hour traffic for an hour to my house. Fury is out cold. Growth spurts and tween malaise, they knock you out. Lessi usually spends the hour singing "Let It Go" in the back seat and/or asking me questions that make less sense as the hour wears on. Or, she does like the above and gets cranky about something. 

The other day, it was her sock. It was a little too big. So she took it off and dropped it on the floor. She asked me to pick it up, so I fished my hand behind the seat to do so, and promptly handed it back to her, at which point she dropped it again, so I fished my hand behind the seat again, and promptly handed it to her, at which point she dropped it ag---- hey!! 

I refused to give in to her demands. Cue tantrum. Not sure if you know this about me, but I am tantrum proof. I can smile through any little person's crying and yelling. Cue plan B: dada button pushing.

"I don't like the freeway!"

I chuckle.

"I don't like being four! I want to be three again!" 

I admire her for really thinking these through.

"I don't like Krispy Kreme!"

Smart - rebuking our special treat. Cute.

"DADA! BRUCE LEE IS A BAD GUY!"

I think this counts as her first TKO victory.