she says, her voice rising.
I am not always sure I like this voice. It is the voice she uses when she disagrees with me. It is the voice of telling her sister what to do. It is a not-cooperating voice.
"I am the only queen," she says again. We have made a sword of cardboard and scotch tape, with orange magic marker. She raises it to shoulder height. "When I walk around in different states, you can see my shadow everywhere! I am the only queen!"
This is not a compliant Lucy, or a pick up her own toys Lucy. This is a prickly Lucy, a get-what-she-wants Lucy, a strong and potent Lucy, a Lucy ready to take on the world. Even when that world is me.
"I am the queen," she says.
"You sure are, sweetie," I tell her. "Let me help you tape your sword."