When I place the new glass in front of her, she carefully examines it. She holds it up to the light, narrowing her eyes. “This glass is dirty. Get me another one.” “It’s not dirty,” I protest. “It just came out of the dishwasher.” “It’s smudged.” She makes a face. “I don’t want it. Give me another one.” I take a deep, calming breath. I’m not going to fight with this little girl. If she wants a new glass for her apple juice, I’ll get her a new glass.
