It would appear that Jane and I are embroiled in a battle. It’s a “don’t touch the knobs on the gas stove” battle. She’s had her hands spatted (which I hate), and there were many tears. But it’s fire people. If you can’t discipline over fire… well…. you’re going to be getting to know your insurance agent on a very personal basis.

I thought our battle was over. But I was wrong.

Yesterday morning I noticed her standing in front of the stove again, staring at the knobs intently.

“Jane, we talked about this. No,” I said as sternly as a woman can when she’s got rollers in her hair and a spoonful of Honey Nut Cheerios in her mouth.

She cut her eyes at me, her mouth pursed in a thoughtful line. I could see the inner dialogue.

“I understand what you’re saying. But I really like knobs.”

She turned her gaze back to them and reached out a hand.

“Jane! I said no.”

She paused, hand in midair, and looked at me.

“NUH!” she stated, shaking her head back and forth.

“Aw how cute,” I muttered, thinking she was mimicking me.

She slowly reached again.

“Hey. No,” I reached down and spatted her hand.

Jane pooched out her lips, and then shook her head violently, “NUH!”

And that’s when it dawned on me that she wasn’t mimicking me at all.

She was telling me no.

After a few moments, and a couple more “NUH’s” she crawled back into the living room.

And so it begins.

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