V is throwing all the cushions off the new couch. This is something she knows we don't like, but she also knows we're too lazy to get up and stop her every time.
"Flamingo! No! Stop!" V is yelling at air.
"Who's Flamingo?" I ask.
"He's my friend."
"What does he look like?"
"Um. like an animal I know."
"Which animal?" I'm thinking I already know the answer.
"Like a moose. And a peacock. And maybe a cow." I was totally wrong.
"Yeah, he's throwing pillows. And I'm not going to play with him. Any. More."
At least someone in this family is a disciplinarian.