My daughter, the parolee.

This morning, Bug was very carefully placing the magnetic letters that stick to our fridge in alphabetical order. This is a very time consuming process involving her singing the ABC song repeatedly down to the last letter she placed in order to know which one comes next.

Yea, and then there was great mourning in all the land because she discovered that we no longer have a Q.

"I don't have any letter Q," she said, her eyes large and sad.

"Yeah, that's true," I said, dismissively, after a cursory glance at the fridge to make sure she hadn't overlooked it. "We'll have to go get more letters at the store sometime."

(As an aside, I'm not sure about your kids, but mine are still young enough that a veiled and vague reference to replacing an item at a later, unspecified date is almost always enough to defer any further heartbreak over an issue.)

"It would be good if we went to the store and stole-ded some new letters," she said, shrugging nonchalantly.

Wait, what?

"Bug, why would we STEAL it? That would be a terrible choice!" I said, sputtering a little in my shock.

"Yeah, we could stole them because all the other kids would want them, too", she said. And I'm telling you, in her eyes was a diabolical sort of sparkle that sent shivers down my spine.