Politely Asked to Leave

Our little Tinkerbell turned four yesterday. She's not only been counting down the days until her birthday, but also informing us of all the things she'll be able to do when she's older.

"When I'm five, I'll cut Curtis's hair with those clippers."

"When I'm seven, I'll put lots of salt on your salad."

"When I'm 16, I'll drive that car."

"When I'm 20, I'll eat my beans."

But as a four-year-old, she's already becoming pretty independent. Yesterday, I went up to her room to play with her new Animal Hospital with her. After a few minutes she asked me, "Dad, is your tummy a little hungry?"

"Um, I don't think so. Is your tummy a little hungry?"

"No, my tummy's not hungry."

I noticed she'd just been holding her toys the whole time I'd been in the room with her. "Do you want me to go downstairs so you can play by yourself?"

"Uh. Yeah."

We've had three good years together. Now she's done with me.