Lark’s apple heist

Miss Lark – my adorable two-year-old lion cub with remarkable red curls – is talking. Not just a word here or there. Not just pointing and grunting like a charming cave toddler.

She’s stringing words together. Sharing her thoughts. Narrating the world exactly as she sees it, which, it turns out, is a place ripe for negotiation.

Lark has me fully wrapped around her little finger. A finger that now comes with terms and conditions. Usually involving two of everything. My partner RaRa calls me Soft Touch Mama, which I honestly don’t mind. I can be firm when needed, but I prefer to meet her at her level, with a big heart.

The other day was a beauty.

She took me firmly by the hand – like a tiny boss – and led me to the freezer in the laundry.

“Open it pleash,” she said.

“What’s inside?” I asked, suspicious but compliant.

She paused. Thought carefully.

“Umm… apples.”

Apples? In the freezer? I pondered.

Clever little thing. She knows exactly where the ice cream lives.

She also knows I won’t open the freezer just for ice cream. But apples? Apples are allowed anytime, not that they live in the freezer.

Let’s see how this plays out.

So I open the door.

She gasped theatrically.

“Ice cream!!”

Before grabbing the tub and attempting a runner like she’d just pulled off the heist of the century.

Cheeky chops.

Pleaasssshhhh