When my daughter was around 3 or 4 I took her and my son to the craft store. As I immersed myself with fabrics, fake flowers and flowing ribbons, the kids followed me, talking and giggling. When I finally decided to stop and ask what was so funny, I noticed my daughter hiding her hand behind her back.
“What do you have?”
I held my hand out, using my stern mother voice. “Give it to me.”
I looked her in the eyes and didn’t blink as she liked to be stubborn and challenge authority. She reluctantly moved her hand and I still never looked at her hand, afraid of breaking the parental control. I thought she had a flower or the spool of ribbon she’d been admiring. But when she put the object in my hand it moved.
At this point I looked down and saw a huge fat frog. I screamed and dropped it. The poor thing started hopping away and I yelled, “get it!”
My kids ran after it, meanwhile the commotion made the workers and shoppers looking on laugh. I was embarrassed that I hadn’t been paying attention. Melanie had the frog the entire car ride and the whole trip around the store.