"No you're not. You had a big dinner."
She subsides for a moment.
"My feet are dirty. You have to wash them."
"Dirty feet means you had a fun day. They'll be washed tomorrow when you go to the pool."
Momentary silence as she thinks frantically, but all she can come up with again is:
And so we begin again.
Kids will say anything to push off the inevitable.
I shoo my sisters' two little girls into bed, swiftly change them into pajamas, and tuck them in. Their eyelids are drooping, their speech slowed, but they still valiantly soldier on.
"Stay wif me," the smaller one begins to wail, screwing up her face.
"Why do I need to stay with you?"
Her features relax in puzzlement as she finds herself unable to answer that question.
"I want you to have a fun day in camp tomorrow," I continue firmly, "and to do that you need to go shloofie, now."
Little as they are, they hear the logic in that, roll over, and pass out.