We were driving up to Maine to see Christie's grandmother, Ma. Violet was good in the car, but by three and a half or so hours, she was beginning to get punchy. After a rest stop, I ended up sitting next to her to keep her entertained and to feed her some snacks.
My seat, behind the driver, is typically occupied by our dog, Doolin, when we take drives, though Doolin wasn't with us on this trip.
A little while after I occupied that seat, Violet looked at me in the car and said, "Are you OK, Doolin?"
I didn't understand what she meant.
She cleared it up, though, and it became clear that she was joking. "You're not Doolin, you're daddy," she said. Not the best joke ever, but at 2 years old I get her a lot of credit.
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