“Ok!” She grabbed my tablet off its docking station and settled on the sofa, where I placed a breakfast tray beside her.
“7:20.” I pointed to the clock. “Got it?”
“Yeeeees.”
I migrated to the kitchen to pack pear slices and pretzels into sandwich baggies. When the clock struck 7-2-0, I called out, “What time is it?”
“Awww, Mom! Just five more minutes, please?”
“Nope. We had a deal.”
A deep sigh blew from across the room. Then I heard the click of a cover flip, and my girl yanked off her pajama top in exchange for school clothes.