Nora was perched on the counter top and I was seated at the kitchen table.
“Mom! Come here I need to talk to you!” she yelled, as if I were in the basement.
“How do you ask me nicely?” I asked.
“Mommy, can you please may come here, please?” She knows she should say “may,” she just doesn’t know where to put it.
I got up and walked three feet to stand in front of her.
“Mom, um. Grown-up poops don’t smell that good.”